History Repeats Itself
by The Lady Arturia
Summary: A tragic accident kills Harry, & Draco is plagued by vivid memories of the same accident, which he was never believed to be in. A decade later, Hermione makes a shocking confession & an even more shocking proposition: firstly, she went back in time and saved Draco from the same accident, & secondly, if they go back in time together, they may be able to save both Draco & Harry.
1. Chapter 1

**A/n: Please read the disclaimers at the bottom. I added them after the chapter so as to avoid any spoilers but reading them will help you understand the fundamentals of this story. **

**This story was inspired by a concept taken from a story by Rule23 called 'No Place Like Home'. Please do read it and give it some love!**

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**Summary**: A tragic accident kills Harry, & Draco is plagued by vivid memories of the same accident, which he was never believed to be in. A decade later, Hermione makes a shocking confession and an even more shocking proposition: firstly, she went back in time and saved Draco from the same accident, & secondly, if they go back in time together, they may be able to save both Draco & Harry—except, at a cost...

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**Chapter 1: The Confession**

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_Two flashes of light. The shrill screech of metal scraping wood. A sharp pain in his head. The taste of iron in his mouth. Startling green eyes contrasted by crimson blood. Unruly hair and a gentle voice calling out his name. A painful tug on his shoulder as he's wrenched to the side. The sensation of being wrapped in a warm yet nauseating vortex. _

_After an eternity of pain, everything is dark and quiet. _

_Then the nightmare starts all over again._

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The snow crunches beneath his boots, unforgiving in its crisp iciness. Every footfall lands deeper in the fresh frost, the cold creeping up on him from every front, threatening to burn him from the inside while freezing him from the outside.

The undisturbed blanket of pure white is blinding even in the waning daylight, casting the cemetery in its unearthly glow, drawing shadows from every corner and crevice of the looming trees. They are crooked in their nakedness and menacing in their gnarled state, the tattered coats of snow barely covering their tangled limbs. Yet their shadows are soft and hazy, almost welcoming, blurring the lines between the real and the perceived, creating a gratifying illusion of peace and solitude for the tormented souls.

It is fitting, he thinks, that the land where they mourn the dead seems more akin to the netherworld than the world of the living. As he stands before a polished headstone made from pristine marble, he realises that the words etched along its surface, those written in memory of the dead but ones he refuses to acknowledge, are the only things that distinguish it from the white of the snow surrounding it.

If not for those loathsome lines of writing, those promiscuous declarations of misguided perceptions, the dead would be forgotten like a white bird in a blizzard: unseen, unheard, unremembered.

The thought disgruntles him, and he reaches out to dust the snow off the top of the curved edge, the sleeve of his dark robes standing out in glaring contrast against the snow-white backdrop. It reminds him, once again, of his bleak reality.

He pauses in his ministrations as he hears the telltale crunch of feet on snow, and quick as a wink, he spins around, his wand drawn and brandished before him. He blinks as he stands nose to wand tip, pausing in his panic only when he registers the person holding the other wand pointed at him.

Her unruly curls look wilder than usual from the snowflakes melting into her hair. But her frosted lips and pink-tinged cheeks stretch into a kind smile as recognition flashes in her wide brown eyes that shone with the crystal-clear intellect he had grown to admire.

"Draco." She addresses him softly, as though afraid to disrupt the quiet of their surroundings, and he nods in greeting.

"Hermione."

Their wands disappear into the sleeves of their robes as though never having been drawn, and he turns as she comes to stand beside him. They look down at the gravestone, Draco still unwilling to read the engraved words, neither speaking for a long, sombre moment.

The silence is broken by Hermione's muffled whisper into her gloved hands, her words soft but her voice filled with silent amusement as she says, "Interesting get-up you've got on."

Draco chuckles despite the seriousness of the situation. "Thanks," he says just as softly.

"Quite conspicuous, though," she continues. "I almost mistook you for a—for someone else." She corrects herself quickly, but her unsaid words linger in the space between them.

_I almost mistook you for a Death Eater. _

"The rather talented anti-fan who managed to get past the Manor's wards and leave this, and a mask stuffed with dungbombs, on my doorstep will be pleased to hear that their handiwork paid off," he responds graciously, ignoring her mistake and sparing her of its awkwardness.

He sees her scrunch up her nose in distaste from the corner of his eye and finds himself chuckling at how ridiculous the entire situation is. There he was, former Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, wearing a long, dark robe with a hood and standing over the grave of his so-called arch nemesis, whose death he is still being wrongfully blamed for despite it having been a decade since the accident.

"Maybe it's finally time you move house," Hermione says.

"And deprive my anti-fans of the opportunity to harass me day in and day out? Never."

He hopes she will laugh at his feeble attempt at dry humour, but she doesn't, and they are left standing in stifling silence once again.

After a time, Hermione says, "None of us blames you. You know that."

Draco inhales a deep breath and lets it out as a long sigh. "Yet, somehow, I can't seem to get past this feeling that I was there that night and, by some miracle, managed to survive when he didn't."

"He wouldn't want you to think that," she says with certainty.

Draco finally lets his eyes wander down to the first line of writing etched into the headstone, a lump forming in his throat as the words finally register in his mind.

_Here lies Harry James Potter_

_(1980-2002)_

As his eyes flit across the second line, a sense of disgust filters through him, and he has the urge to re-write the quote, as he has every time for the past decade.

_He was known as The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, The Master of Death, The Hero, The Saviour, and so on…_

Nobody knew who engraved the originally unmarked headstone, but one fine day, Draco had arrived to find it etched with those despicable words, yet nobody had it in them to change it. After all, what would they say? What _could _they say?

"There's no way to know that," Draco says in response to Hermione's statement. "After all, he's been dead for ten years."

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence, and after a long moment of trying to quell the urge to pull out his wand, Draco succumbs to it. He casts a warming spell to melt the snow and ice around the headstone and then carefully re-writes the quote as he has wanted to for so long. It now reads:

_He was known as The The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, The Master of Death, The Hero, The Saviour, and so forth… but he always wanted to be known as Harry. Just Harry._

Draco feels Hermione's eyes on him and turns to meet her gaze. She offers him a teary smile and holds out a hand. He hesitates for a moment before taking it, but when she squeezes his hand, the unsaid words pass through their interlocked fingers, and he lets out a long, dreary sigh.

"If you could go back in time," Hermione says after a moment of silent mourning, "do you think you could save him?"

Draco considers this as he has so many times over the years and responds with the only answer he has ever succeeded in coming up with. "I don't know."

"But if you _could…"_

It takes him a few seconds to catch on to her train of thought, and when he turns to meet her expectant gaze, he can't help but shake his head, afraid of the dangerous line of thinking she's indulging in.

"No, Hermione."

"Hypothetically," she says, letting go of his hand to hold her hands up in surrender. "If you were able to travel back in time…"

"_No,_" Draco says again, firmer this time. He crosses his arms and glares at her for good measure. "I refuse to have this conversation with you again."

She seems more desperate now as she flaps her arms about, her eyes wild and her hair crackling with a crazed sort of energy. "But _what if—_"

"I'm leaving," Draco announces, cutting her off, determined on leaving before she talks him into entertaining hopeless pipedreams.

She struggles to catch up to his long strides but manages to grab his robe and tug hard, toppling them both over into the thick snow.

"Hermione!" Draco admonishes as he sits awkwardly in knee-deep snow, wet and freezing, his voice echoing around the quiet cemetery and returning to him as ghostly whispers. "For Merlin's sake, we are not children!"

"I'm sorry," she says, and Draco almost yells at her again, but her big, brown eyes are filled with tears, melting even his cold, closed-off heart.

Draco sighs and runs a hand through his rather long, un-styled hair, pushing it out of his face as he regards her with a measured expression. He is much too physically and mentally drained to fight her on this and decides to indulge her one last time, if only to put an end to this disastrous line of thinking and nothing else.

"We've had this conversation before," he says finally, his voice sounding taut and strained. "_Hypothetically,_ even if you did manage to gain access to a Typical Time-Turner, you would be unable to go that far back into the past because of the Hour-Reversal Charm. And even if you _did_ somehow manage to make the trip, the distortion you've caused by meddling with the natural order, and traveling back so many years in time, would rip a hole in the time-space continuum and create an infinite time loop that you may never escape." He inhales deeply, his voice barely above a whisper. "You could end up trapped, watching him die over and over again for all eternity."

The tears spill down Hermione's cheeks and a sob escapes her trembling lips. Draco swallows thickly, upset that he has hurt her with his words but knowing that she needs to hear them. Before he can say something in consolation, however, she pipes up.

"Don't you ever wonder why you can see such vivid images of the accident even though you were nowhere near it when it happened?" she asks in a rush, as though not having heard one word of what Draco had just said. Without waiting for an answer, she pushes on. "Have you never wondered if these fragments are actually _memories _and not just hallucinations?"

"That's impossible, Hermione," Draco says, his voice rough with emotion. Unwilling to entertain any more of her nonsense lest they trigger yet another repeat of his nightmares, he stands, dusts off the snow, and casts a warming spell on himself.

"But _what if_, Draco," Hermione says hurriedly as she struggles to her feet. "What if you _were_ actually there?"

Draco frowns. "That's impos—"

"Hypothetically," Hermione interjects.

"_Hypothetically,_" Draco snaps, "if I were there during the accident, then I shouldn't be alive right now."

"Exactly," Hermione whispers, and the look in her eyes sends shivers down Draco's spine.

"What…" he says, her words and her behaviour making him draw forth the worst conclusions, "what did you do?" When she doesn't answer immediately, he grabs her by the shoulders and squeezes. "Hermione, _please _tell me you aren't going to say what I think you will."

She shakes her head, the tears spilling down her cheeks. "I didn't know you were there," she says, her voice breaking. "I only intended to save Harry and nothing more. I didn't think I would find you there and end up saving you instead!"

"Merlin's blue balls," Draco groans, taking his head in his hands, his mind whirring. If what she was saying was true—and he refused to believe that it was—then Hermione may have actually succeeded in creating a True Time-Turner, one that allows you to travel back in time indefinitely, something he knew she has been working on secretly for the past decade. He snaps his head up and grabs her again. "How did this happen? What did you do?"

She shivers, then seems to have enough presence of mind to cast a large bubble charm around them and trap them in a globe of warmth before drying their clothes. Draco shakes her, urging her to answer his question, desperate to know but not know at the same time.

"You know I've done it before," Hermione says, drying her tears. "Traveled back in time to save a life, I mean." She shakes her head. "So I thought I could do it again and succeed, but I failed to take into consideration the fact that the consequences of time travel under such unstable circumstances would be much harder to predict."

"So, what are you trying to say?" Draco asks, his heart now racing. "You went back in time and saved my life instead of Harry's? _Why_?"

Hermione's head drops into her hands and she moans woefully. "I told you, I didn't know you were there! I never know, no matter how many times I go back, because although I somehow managed to return to the right timeline successfully, I created an infinite time loop of that moment!"

"Wha—how many times have you done this?" he exclaims.

She ignores him and continues on with her story. "I arrive just after the accident and find the two of you together, nearly dead. Just as I attempt to save Harry, he begs me to take you instead because he's in worse shape and won't make the journey back. I then make the most difficult decision of my life and pull you out of the crash just before the car explodes. On instinct, I manage to Apparate the two of us to a Muggle hospital and _Obliviate_ you, immediately after which I'm forcefully returned to my timeline."

She looks up at Draco, who is simply staring at her in disbelief, and shakes her head. "I never remember what I've done until _after_ I've returned to this timeline because of the loop."

There are so many things Draco wants to ask and say, but his brain is too overwhelmed at the moment to make sense of his muddled thoughts and emotions, so he only manages to say, "So, us meeting and becoming friends…" he trails off, uncertain of finishing his question.

"Is all genuine." She moves closer to him and takes his hands in hers. "I never knew you were in that crash until now, ten years later, Draco. This whole time, I thought only Harry was in the crash and intended to save just him. Please, believe me."

Draco pulls his hands away and presses his palms against his eyes as he falls deep into thought. After several minutes of processing this information, he asks, "So, then, why did you asked me if _I_ could travel back in time…"

Hermione's eyes shine then, and she clasps her hands together. "I think I've figured out a way to break the infinite time loop."

Draco is shaking his head before she can even finish speaking. "No, no." He waves a hand to dismiss what she is suggesting. "I think you've done quite enough time travel for a lifetime, young lady."

"Yes, I agree, which is why I'm asking _you _to—"

"No!" Draco exclaims, taking a step backwards and shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "No, I refuse to take part in this madness."

"But—"

"_No, _Hermione." Draco spins on his heel and begins to make his way towards the cemetery's gate, shivering as he exits the bubble of warmth and is welcomed by the icy embrace of the December air.

"But I saved _you._" Hermione says, and even though her voice is soft, it carries far. "I chose to save _you _instead of Harry, despite it going against everything I worked so hard for this past decade."

A wave of anger washes over Draco, and he glares at her from over his shoulder. "Are you trying to guilt me into sacrificing my life for a choice _you _made?"

"The least you can do is listen to what I have to say," Hermione replies, and she sounds so helpless and desperate that Draco doesn't have the heart to say no.

He knows he's going to regret it, but he concedes, nevertheless, with a sigh of resignation. "Fine. But only if you give me your word that you'll respect whatever decision I make and leave it at that."

Hermione hesitates for a moment and then nods. "You have my word."

Draco sighs again and jerks his chin towards the gilded archway that led to the Apparition point.

As Hermione catches up to him, he asks, "So...your place or mine?"

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**Disclaimer 1: The only part of this story that conforms to Cursed Child canon is the creation of two "True" Time-Turners. Except, the one that created them is Hermione, not Theodore Nott, and the reason behind why she creates them is the sole purpose of saving Harry. Nothing else in the story follows Cursed Child canon. **

**Disclaimer 2: The rules of time travel followed in this story are based on a logic that I have created from my understanding of the infinite time loop that the Typical Time-Turners are able to create (as explained in the wiki about why the Typical Time-Turners in the Ministry became unusable). To explain my logic in simple terms using a canonical event, when Hermione and Harry used a Typical Time-Turner to save Buckbeack in PoA, they created an infinite time loop of the distortion—which basically is an endless repetition of the same event in that point in time, caused by the distortion in the time-space continuum—which can be witnessed when Harry and Hermione reappear in the present just as the past version of themselves travels back in time (hence Ron's confusion of "but you were just here and now you're there" because that event essentially loops around itself endlessly). Because of this time loop, the person that travels back in time inevitably finds themselves doing the same things over and over again, in every alternate reality or timeline that is created by the time loop, and has no memory of the event until **_**after **_**it has happened. Which is why Hermione doesn't know she saved Draco's life until a decade later, **_**after**_ **she does it and returns back to the present. **

**Please don't try to use actual scientific logic to understand this because it's a fictional concept based on a little bit of science and isn't real. **

**Disclaimer 3: Everything that isn't recognisable as being a part of canon is my own creation, but all due credits go to JKR. **

**Disclaimer 4: James, Albus, Lily, and Scorpius do not exist in this story because, in the original timeline, Harry dies before Ginny can get pregnant the first time, and Draco is never able to commit to marrying Astoria because of his survivor's guilt, so she ends up with Blaise (a headcanon taken from my other Drarry series, Iridescent Lies). In the alternate timeline, Harry and Ginny are broken up, and Draco never gets together with Astoria. Please also remember that Draco from the original timeline is ten years older than Harry from the alternate timeline. So Harry is 22 and Draco is 32.**

**If you have any questions, feel free to leave a review and ask them, and I'll reply to your review and clarify things as best that I can. Even if you don't have a question, please do leave a review on your thoughts! **

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**Also written for Assignment #12 of Hogwarts: Games and Sports, ****Prompt - Write about someone adding, taking away or changing the rules for something or someone.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/n: Please remember the disclaimer in the previous chapter about the logic behind the time travel in this story and don't try too hard to make sense of it. If you're a science person and the illogicality of it bothers you, then just skip past the explanations and read the rest. Happy reading!**

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**Chapter 2: The Decision**

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Draco studies the two True Time-Turners Hermione has succeeded in creating. Each stands proudly in their respective glass domes atop a short, mahogany bookshelf in the farthest corner of her laboratory that doubles as a study. Both look heavy thanks to every part having been made of the purest form of gold. If you stand at just the right angle where the afternoon light floods in through the far window, you can almost see the magic pulsating around them.

He can see subtle differences in the spells engraved on the rings of each, but besides that, they look near identical, and very similar to the Typical Time-Turners that the Ministry of Magic used to issue. He wants to ask Hermione again what makes the two in the glass domes different than their counterparts but decides against it at the risk of sounding foolish.

The most glaring difference between the two Time-Turners before him, however, is the fact that one is oddly misshapen, as though it crumpled on itself under great pressure, while the other stands proudly in its perfect form. Draco presumes that the misshapen Time-Turner is the one that Hermione used to travel back into the past to save him—a fact that he hasn't quite wrapped his mind around yet but is steadily becoming more and more convinced of being the truth.

The other, uninjured Time-Turner is the one Hermione intends to use to make the second time jump, Draco is sure. His mind wanders back to their previous conversation, where Hermione insisted that the solution to avoiding the creation of an infinite time loop while simultaneously managing to save both past Draco _and _Harry ('pDraco' and 'pHarry', as Hermione had dubbed them for the sake of clarity) was for the both of them to go back into the past together and save pDraco a moment _before _Hermione from the time loop (dubbed Hermione2) arrives, thus allowing Hermione2 to save pHarry and fulfil the originally intended purpose of the time jump while also being able to save pDraco.

Draco argued, saying, "If your intention is to simply do what you originally did and save past me—I mean pDraco—_before_ Hermione2 arrives at the scene of the crash, there's no need for me to tag along, is there?"

Hermione sighed and tapped her quill on the large piece of parchment spread out before them that they were using to strategise. "Changing an already-altered reality has never been done before and could lead to consequences that we cannot foresee. The reason you need to be there as well is because, once we re-alter the same past, we will have to forcefully prevent the splitting of our current future from the future that Hermione2 will bring about."

"You mean, we need to prevent the creation of an alternate reality that will be born from us changing an already altered reality," Draco said.

Hermione pointed a finger at him. "Exactly. Because, technically, Hermione2, you, and I all belong to the same timeline. But, if Hermione2 saving pHarry was to create an alternate reality, then Harry will still be dead in _our_ timeline." She gestured between them as she said _our. _

"And how would we go about preventing that?" Draco asked.

Hermione pursed her lips. "We need to erase ourselves from existing in this timeline."

Draco stared at Hermione like she had completely lost her mind. "You've gone mad," he said, aghast. "You've finally lost it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Think about it for a minute, Draco. If we erase our current selves once we have re-altered the past, while we are still in the past, then Hermione2 will be forced to return back to _this exact future _and not an alternate reality. Because if you and I no longer exist in this timeline, an alternate reality will not be created and pDraco and Hermione2 will slip back into this timeline and take the places you and I currently occupy. Which means that both Harry _and _you will continue to exist in this same timeline instead of in an alternate reality to this."

Draco nodded slowly as the logic of it all sunk in. "But what makes you so sure we won't be creating another time loop?"

"We can't create one because we'll cease to exist once the alteration has been made. Time can only loop when something exists that creates and sustains the loop. But if there's nothing there to create the loop to begin with—"

"Then there can't exist an infinite time loop," Draco finished, breathless. "So we'll be putting an end to the previous time loop that you created the first time as well."

Hermione's smile was wry, her brown eyes twinkling in the way they always did when she felt accomplished.

Draco shook his head and sighed. "Hermione Granger, you really and truly are a genius." He ran a hand through his hair. "Although the idea of ceasing to exist is daunting, it wouldn't matter much because we would still exist in this reality—just not the us that went back in time to rewrite the past."

"Exactly."

"But," Draco said, one part of the whole plan still weighing on him, "if Harry is alive in our re-created reality, would you and I still be friends? Would you even create a Time-Turner in the first place? Would we actually be the same people?" His shoulders slumped. "When we cease to exist, wouldn't we be erasing everything that happened to us in the past ten years?"

"But Harry will be _alive_," Hermione whispered, shaking her head. "The only thing that would change is our tragic futures." She took Draco's face in her hands, and the latter couldn't help but feel unnerved at the way her eyes shone in that same crazed manner as before. "You can live a happy life with whomever you please, free of nightmares and an indescribable survivor's guilt, and I'll still have a happy marriage and live with my kids!"

Draco sighed, still not fully convinced, but the more he thought about it, the more appealing Hermione's plan sounded. He could be… happy? He would choose to erase the past decade for a do-over any day. Hermione had her own reasons for being convinced this would work, it seemed, and Draco wanted to believe in her optimism.

"Alright," he said, nodding. "Let's do it."

Hermione squealed in delight and smacked him on the arm. "Go sort out whatever needs sorting and be back here within the next three hours. We have to do this right away if we want to get the timing right so we have enough time to save pDraco before Hermione2's arrival."

And that brings Draco back to the current moment, three hours later, as he moves around Hermione's work space, scrutinising her belongings but being respectful enough to not touch them. His eyes fall on a family portrait, and he grimaces at the sight of Hermione surrounded by a trio of redheads.

From all that Hermione had told Draco about her marriage to Ron Weasley in their years of friendship, he didn't understand why she wanted to return to being Weasley's wife. While Draco did understand that Harry being alive would mean Weasley and Hermione wouldn't spend the next several years in a toxic co-dependence where they blamed each other for the death of their best friend because they couldn't bear the guilt of it by themselves, he wondered how big a role Harry would play in Hermione's marriage being a happy one.

Draco knew that Hermione would do _anything _to live with her kids again, though, since the only reason she had lost custody of them in the first place was because she had been down here, in her secret lab. She had lost track of time while in the midst of her time travel experiments, thus leaving the children upstairs in a situation of near neglect. It was just the one time, but it was bad enough that it happened even once, and Hermione regrets it to this day.

Draco did still worry, however, that while Harry being alive would give Hermione the happiness she so desperately desired, it would also mean that she would no longer have any reason to research time travel or work extensively in creating Time-Turners. What this means is that the chances of Draco and Hermione meeting and becoming friends because of their like-minded interests in time travel and the possibility of altering the past would cease to exist. Draco would lose someone he considered one of the only few people that mattered in his life.

_But you would have Harry, _his mind whispers to him, and the thought of that sends his heart aflutter. Even if he can't remember the reason behind him being together with Harry during that car crash that should have killed them both thanks to Hermione's memory altering charm, Draco most certainly remembers that they shared several moments of genuine affection and passion before that—even if it was for a brief period of time.

And the possibility of getting that back further strengthens his resolve. Just as he prepares himself for the task at hand, the hatch door in the ceiling falls open, and Hermione descends on a rope ladder, all smiles and frizzy hair.

"Ready to go?" she asks as she approaches him.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Draco replies with a nervous laugh.

Hermione smiles and gestures for him to follow her. As they stand before the Time-Turners, Hermione carefully pulls off the domed glass lid and gingerly picks up the functioning Time-Turner. She glances at Draco before putting it around both their necks and says, "Well, let's hope this works."

"I mean," Draco replies as she mutters under her breath and spins the rings. "What could possibly go wrong?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: The Mission**

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One moment, Draco is standing in Hermione's homely, wood-panelled study, then he blinks, and the next moment finds him whirling through time and space. Everything is warped and disjointed; colours are either blindingly bright or oddly muted, as though someone has turned on a flashlight up to its highest setting then all the way down to the lowest one.

The space around him is distorted. He doesn't feel weightless, like he's floating, but neither does he feel like there's anything solid beneath his feet. If he had to find a way to describe what he was going through, he would have to say it was like standing in a dark room whose floor was glass and walls were enchanted to show fragmented images and videos while colourful lights threw off one's perception of darkness and light, distance and balance.

Just as he is getting used to the odd sensation of not floating but not standing either, he feels gravity's grip loosen on him, and he is free-falling through time and space. Snippets of memories from his life over the past decade flash by, as though on the _rewind _setting of a VCR player, and he realises belatedly that he doesn't know where Hermione is.

Before he can even find it in himself to panic, his feet hit solid ground. The abruptness of it throws him off kilter, and the world is tilting sideways as he falls over and lands heavily on his left arm.

Groaning as jolts of pain shoot through him, Draco pushes himself into a sitting position, glad to be able to feel his limbs again. It takes him a few moments to orient himself, and when his vision adjusts to the sudden darkness, he realises with a jolt that he knows where he is.

Draco turns in a slow circle, taking in the line of trees behind him that paints a jagged silhouette across the fiery sky, opening up to a narrow dirt path leading to the highway nearby. As he makes his way up the path, he begins to realise that the orange tinge of the sky isn't from the setting sun but, rather, something burning.

Bile rises to his throat and his windpipe begins to constrict, the first signs of a panic attack coming in strong. He doubles over and dry heaves, clenching his eyes shut as he attempts to regain control of his hyperventilating body. His ears ring and his brain feels like it's being poked and prodded by hundreds of tiny needles. If he wasn't struggling to breathe, he would have laughed at the idea of his body quite literally short-circuiting.

There's the sound of a gunshot from somewhere to his left, and Draco wills himself to his feet, stumbling in the dark as he attempts to see through his blurry vision. As he nears the road, he notices a car up ahead, having skid off the road, its front smashed into a large tree, and he presumes that the gunshot he heard was actually the sound of a tyre exploding. One of the larger branches had fallen through the windshield, on the driver's side, surely impaling whoever was inside.

There was the sound of broken glass and a woman shouting, and Draco could barely make out two forms, one dragging the other away from the car. Before his muddled brain could register what was happening, the back of the car bursts open in a gush of flames and smoke and flying metal.

A wave of hot air slaps him in the face moments later, and he flings an arm over his face as he quickly casts a shield charm to keep the debris from injuring him. He struggles to see through the smoke and flames, the pit of his stomach falling to the ground when he realises that he had just witnessed the accident that should have killed him.

"No," he whispers, trying to make out the burning form still in the car. "No, this can't be right. Her—Hermione," he croaks as he stumbles towards the smouldering car. "Hermione!" he shouts again, but instead of a response, he hears the _pop _of Apparition.

"Hermione2," he whispers and runs a hand through his hair. "That must've been Hermione2 saving pDraco. Then—Then where's _my _Hermione? Where's—?"

"—aco."

The voice is so feeble, barely audible over the burning car and the ringing in his ear, but his eyes are still able to make out a form by the tree, on the other side of the car. For a moment, a wave of joy overcomes him, and he rushes through the billowing smoke, but his feet stop dead in their tracks as he sees the sight before him, his blood running cold and his knees feeling weak.

Hermione stands between the car and the tree, her hands pressed against the destroyed bonnet. Her face and hair are grey from the soot, dark rivulets of blood seeping down from her forehead and torso to the ground below. Hermione2 must not have seen her future self in her haste to save pDraco.

"Hermione," Draco whispers as he pushes through the debris to get to her. "'Mione, what—what happened?"

She coughs in reply, and Draco casts quick healing and cleaning spells to undo as much of the damage that he can.

"Time-Turner's chain snapped," Hermione rasps. "Got separated." She motions to the car. "Landed in front of the car."

"Oh, no, no," Draco says, suddenly realising that it wasn't that she was standing in front of the car, it was that the car had crushed her to the tree behind her. "No, this can't be happening. I can't lose you too. Not when we haven't even saved—"

He cuts himself off as a sudden realisation comes to him. His eyes fly to the driver's seat of the car, and for a heart-wrenching moment, he expects to see familiar black hair and round spectacles beyond the branch impaling the windshield. But, instead, all he sees is an empty seat with the stuffing pouring out from around the spear of wood.

Hope blooms from beneath all the despair, and he quickly turns to Hermione. "Harry," he gasps. "Where's Harry?"

Hermione nods to the side, and Draco looks behind him to find—lo and behold—an unconscious Harry Potter, sprawled awkwardly on the ground, beside a bush some ways off. He seems mostly uninjured, but the right side of his body looks roughed up.

"_Accio-_d him out of the car before it crashed," Hermione manages to say, and Draco quickly returns his attention to his injured friend.

"Let me help," he says quickly, scrutinising the extent of damage, trying to see how he could get her out from between the tree and the car.

"No," she says, her voice barely above a whisper now. She manages to find Draco's arm and squeezes it with what little strength she has left. "You have to go. No time…"

"I'm not leaving you here, Hermione," Draco says, adamant, as he supports the entirety of her weight in his arms when she loses the strength to hold herself upright. "This was _not _the plan. This—This is _not _how we're meant to cease to exist. You can't—don't die on me now, Hermione Granger. Don't you dare. You hear me?"

"It was always meant to be this way," she whispers, her eyes unseeing and glassy as they look off into the distance. "You were always meant to live, n' Harry... meant to die." She shoots Draco a small smile. "Now that we've changed that… A life for a life. Harry's... for mine."

"That's nonsense," Draco snaps through gritted teeth as he wills the tears away and the sobs to remain inside. "I refuse to let you just die like this. Not—Not like this."

"'S time to go," Hermione murmurs.

Draco feels something cold in his palm and finds that she's placed the Time-Turner, which looks nearly as warped as its sibling had been, in his hand and looks back up at Hermione.

"Please," he whispers as he holds her in his arms. She smiles at him one final time and closes her eyes. He feels her pulse beneath his fingers slow and then fade altogether, but her face is so peaceful, as though she has simply managed to fall asleep and nothing more.

Draco begins to sob, but his moment of crushing sadness is short-lived as the car begins to make grating sounds.

_I have to get out of here, _he finds himself thinking. Cursing his selfishness in that moment, he presses a kiss to Hermione's sooty forehead, gently lowers her to the ground, and rushes to where Harry is.

Just as Draco manages to affix the Time-Turner around his neck, Harry opens his eyes. "Draco?" he whispers, sounding confused.

A broken sob escapes Draco's lips and turns into a gasping laugh as he pulls Harry close. Before he can turn the rings to get them out of there, however, the car explodes for a second time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: The Realisation**

* * *

"_Murderer!"_

_He doesn't realise it is him who is being addressed until a rotten tomato strikes him in the arm, leaving an angry red splotch on his white shirt. When he turns around, his eyes scan the crowd, and he realises that, despite some of them pointing at him and whispering and others pretending to not see him, they all have one thing in common: their mutual hatred of him born from the misconception that he had caused the death of their beloved Chosen One. _

_He wants to scream at them and tell them that he wasn't to blame—that he could hardly remember the past six weeks he had spent going in and out of consciousness as he lay in a Muggle hospital. In fact, he didn't even know who had taken him there or why he had been so badly injured. The last thing he could remember was promising to be Harry's date to a potions symposium and begrudgingly agreeing to Harry's proposal of driving there in a Muggle car so they could enjoy the ocean view along the way. _

_Yet, here he is, nearly two months later, facing unwarranted hatred for and being accused of wrongdoings he never committed. After all, what reason would he have to murder the only person he had decided to let back into his life since he had ostracised himself from the outside world after the war?_

_With a sigh of frustration, he spins on the spot and Apparates home. He tries in vain to distract himself from the day's events and refrain from slipping down the rabbit hole of cursing himself for deciding to go back outside only to face the people's anger and loathing. _

_He had promised Harry, after all, that he wouldn't shut himself off anymore and would stand with his head held high and accept the public's scorn like a repenting man instead of running away like a coward for the rest of his life. It was easier said than done, however, when the same man, who had promised to be by his side and support him through the difficult task, had suddenly disappeared from the world, leaving him to not only suffer the pain of his death alone but also the misplaced hatred. _

_Closing his eyes, he downs an entire vial full of potent sleeping potion and falls back on the bed, hoping—no, praying—that he is able to escape the harsh reality by turning to the world of his dreams. _

* * *

Draco opens his eyes to the familiar sight of the star-spangled grey canopy over his bed. He exhales in relief and laughs to himself as he sweeps his arms and legs back and forth, like a child lying in snow.

Of _course _it had all been a long, terrible dream. He scoffs at himself and shakes his head as he sits up in the tangle of sheets.

"Ludicrous," he mutters as he slips out of bed and heads to the bathroom to freshen up.

He stands in the doorway to the spacious bathroom, taking in the gleaming marble countertops and the rolls of fresh towels and bathrobes. He smiles to himself, deciding to thank the House-elves for always ensuring that the manor remains spotless. He pads over to the large,circular bathtub and finds that the House-elves have also run a bath for him, complete with rose petals in the water and lavender-scented candles lining the edges.

He slips out of his night clothes and steps into the welcoming warmth of his bath, settling down with a sigh of content as his eyes flutter shut. He inhales deeply, revelling in the calming scent of lavender, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards into a faint smile. His mind wanders for a few seconds, visualising in his mind's eye the immaculate bathroom and the painting of a mermaid hanging on the wall before him, wondering when the last time he had felt such a deep sense of relaxation was.

Draco sighs again, satisfied, _happy _even. Then his eyes fly open, and he stares at the mermaid as she sits on a rock, running her hands through her golden mane, her lips moving in silent song. Where the shadow of the rock meet the dark waves crashing against it, the artist's name and the date it was given to him is painted in white.

_Astoria Greengrass, 5/6/2002. _

"No," Draco whispers as he throws his arms out on either side, knocking a candle off as he rose to his feet, the water spilling down his toned body and splashing onto the ground around the bathtub. "No, this can't be."

He steps out hurriedly, drying the water on and around him with an impatient wave of his wand, and pulls on a fluffy white robe as he all but runs out of the room.

"Silver!" he yells before he Apparates to the dining room. He stares at the spread set out for him, the scrumptious breakfast making his stomach gurgle in hunger. A crack sounds behind him, and he turns to see the pale House-elf, her ears pressed flat to her small head as she trembles in fear, afraid of having made a mistake.

"Silver," Draco says, gentler this time, "look at me."

The House-elf raises her head cautiously to meet Draco's gaze. Her wide, tear-filled eyes were a startling silver with specks of gold, and Draco couldn't help but find himself calming down at the sight of the innocence in them.

"What is the date?" he asks the House-elf, who, after a bit of floundering, Summons a newspaper and holds it out to Draco.

"It is the twenty-sixth of November, Master Draco."

"Of what year," Draco mutters as he unfurls the paper and eyes the date at the top. His heart skips a beat, and he inhales sharply, feeling light-headed all of a sudden. He stumbles backwards and reaches out to grab a hold of a chair to steady himself as the paper falls to the ground. He glances down at it, fearful, and the headlines scream up at him.

_THE BOY WHO LIVES AGAIN!_

_Harry Potter, who survived not one but two Killing Curses from the Dark Lord himself, has yet again outwitted Death by rising from the ashes of a car crash!_

The sensationalised article goes on to talk about how Harry managed to get out of an impossible accident with a few scrapes and a concussion, and the reporter goes on to wonder why he is still in the hospital a week later, when he seems perfectly capable of returning home.

Draco's eyes skirt back up to the date at the top. "Twenty-sixth November, two thousand two," he says, his voice trembling. "It was all real…"

He collapses onto a chair, head in his arms, his mind abuzz with possibilities. So Harry and he had survived the accident, but instead of returning to his own timeline, Draco was still stuck in the past.

He jumps back as he looks around frantically. Where is the Time-Turner he had used? What had he been doing for the past week? Why couldn't he remember anything from after the accident? And what of pDraco and Hermione2? Were there now _two _Dracos in the past, or had an alternate timeline been created to accommodate both Dracos?

As his mind whirs around with all of these unanswered questions, his eyes fall on a stack of mail laid out for him on the table, the familiar cursive peeking out from under one of the letters catching Draco's eye. He grabs the ivory envelope and rips it open, his eyes skimming through the contents so quickly in his rush to know what it said that he has to re-read it to properly process what was written.

It is a letter from Hermione asking him to meet with her as soon as he reads the letter. But she doesn't mention a specific location—only a time, and _the place where we first spoke. _

_What does this mean,_ Draco wonders. Which Hermione was this, writing to him? Surely not _his _Hermione, since she—

He shakes the horrifying image of smoke and blood from his head and eyes the letter again. But the handwriting definitely belongs to Hermione. He has seen it so many times over the years that he could pick it out from amongst a hundred others. So, then, if it isn't the Hermione from his timeline, is it Hermione2?

That seems to be the most logical explanation because Draco hasn't yet spoken to Hermione in 2002, at least not in the way that he's certain the Hermione from the letter is talking about. Deciding to give it a shot, he flips the letter over, Transfigures a spoon into a Self-Inking Quill, and scribbles out a quick reply letting Hermione know that he will be there, at _that place_, at the time she had chosen, today.

He whistles and waits. The seconds stretch into minutes, and just as Draco is about to go to the owlery himself, a tawny owl swoops in through the window and perches on the back of the chair beside him. He ties the letter to its outstretched foot and watches it fly away, his heart still racing.

If it really _is _Hermione2 that wrote to him, then did she somehow get stuck in the past, too? But if she _is_ here, then what about pDraco? And the Hermione from the past?

Draco sighs, taking his head in his hands again. If his theory turned out to be accurate, then that means there are now two sets of Draco and Hermione, and one of each set has no business belonging in that timeline. So they either have to leave voluntarily, or they would be kicked out by force. Or, even worse, they could be wiped from existence entirely.

* * *

**A/n: Thank you for all the reviews and follows! I intend to post a new chapter ever week, so please follow this story if you would like to be notified when a new chapter is posted, and please do review to let me know what you think of the story so far!**

**Love, **

**Arty xx**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/n: If you're enjoying the story or have any questions/comments, please leave a review! Thanks for reading!**

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Revelation**

* * *

He is pacing in his study, still pondering over what happened to pDraco and why Hermione2 is stuck in this timeline, when his tawny messenger swoops in through the open window and situates itself on the stand nearby. As Draco rushes over to it, the tawny owl sticks out a leg to reveal the little scroll tied to it with a red ribbon that looks awfully like the kind Hermione used to tie Rose's hair.

Practically snatching the scroll off the owl's foot, and earning a squawk of indignation in response, Draco unfurls the parchment and scans the brief letter. It reads:

_Dear Draco,_

_I am relieved to hear from you. I was beginning to fear the worst when I received no news of or from you for so long (I had forgotten how strong the wards around Malfoy Manor were in 2002; it was impossible to break through them without the fear of injuring you). _

_Apologies for the delayed response; I just happened to drop by the lab for a change of clothes and saw your letter. Let us change the time and venue of our meeting: come to the fourth floor of St Mungo's as soon as you have read this letter. I will explain more in person. _

_P.S. wear a hat. _

_P.P.S. burn this letter._

_Love, _

_Hermione (hopefully the one you know)_

Draco re-reads the letter, staring at the parentheses beside the signature for a long moment before setting the piece of parchment alight. He watches it burn slowly, then tosses it into the air and follows its slow descent to the ground, blinking only when the last piece turns to ash and the flame fizzles out.

With a sigh, he quickly Summons a coat, hat, and, as an afterthought, gloves and dark glasses. He puts them all on, ensuring that the broad rim of the hat casts most of his face in shadow so that his eyes are invisible even through the glasses. After offering the tawny owl a treat, he wraps his coat closer around him, holds his hat firmly, and twists his ankles as he spins in place.

The familiar vortex of Apparition envelopes him, the usual flashes of colour dimmed out by his dark glasses, and with a rush of air and the flutter of his coat, he arrives in the Apparition spot behind St Mungo's. It doesn't take him much time to reach the fourth floor, but it does take him some time to wander around, wondering where exactly Hermione meant to meet him.

A witch brushes past him, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in an impeccable updo, the string of pearls around her neck clicking together as their shoulder collide gently. Draco stops abruptly and looks over his shoulder to see the woman walking away from him. She pauses and glances in his direction before turning a corner, and, with bated breath, his heart racing, Draco hurries to follow after her.

They walk down a long corridor, Draco keeping a distance of several feet between them just in case he is wrong in his assumption that he is following a Hermione2 in disguise. She turns left sharply, and as he takes the turn himself, he finds himself standing outside the Department of Mental Maladies—otherwise known as the Wainscott Ward, named after the first ever Mind Healer—which was inaugurated earlier that year, Draco remembers absently.

The witch turns to Draco, and with a quick wave of her wand, the glamour on her face evaporates.

"Hermione," Draco gasps, pulling her into a hug before he can think too much about it. Hermione2 hugs him back, patting him gently, and then pulls away with a small smile.

"It's good to see you too, Draco." Then, with raised eyebrows and an amused smirk, she says, "Nice disguise."

Draco is reminded of Hermione's comment regarding his conspicuous outfit at Harry's grave, and that sobers down the rush of happiness that was making him giddy. "Tell me what happened."

Hermione2—now the only Hermione, Draco reminds himself—motions to the rickety plastic chairs placed along one wall, and they settle down on the hard, uncomfortable seat. Draco glances at the ward behind them and then at a sombre Hermione. "Why are we here? Where's Harry? Is he—"

"He's alright," Hermione reassures Draco. "Just… more than slightly overwhelmed by everything that's happened."

"He's in there, is he?" Draco asks, gesturing to the double doors made of frosted glass. Hermione nods. Draco then asks her a more pressing question. "How… how did you know I was here?"

"I found my lab."

It takes Draco several seconds to realise the meaning behind her words. He inhales sharply. Hermione's lab belongs in a time much later than 2002. "What? How?"

"I honestly couldn't tell you," Hermione replies with a shrug, "although I presume it has something to do with the reason why you and I are still here."

Draco sits back, a boulder of realisation settling on his shoulders and slowly weighing down on him. "Are you saying that by traveling back to the same past once again, the other Hermione and I tore through the fabric of time and space somehow, and now the future and the past have gotten intertwined?"

When Hermione doesn't respond, he turns to look at her, surprised by the mildly startled expression on her face. He raises and eyebrow. "Am I wrong?"

"No, actually, you hit the nail on the head." Sha laughs drily. "I suppose I'm just a little shaken up by the fact that it took you a minute to figure that out when it took me an entire week."

Draco can't help but smile at the affronted frown on her face. "That's only because I'm from a future several months ahead of yours. You had already predicted that this could be one of the many consequences of us undertaking a second time travel expedition to the same past."

"Of course." Hermione sighs, shaking her head. "Honestly, the only reason I thought you may be here was because the me from the future had the good sense to leave a detailed journal regarding this little experimental journey of yours. I found it when I found the lab, and it hinted that if I end up stuck in the past, you may have ended up in a similar situation as well, although I'm unsure if the journal was meant for the me from the future and not _me _me, or someone else entirely." She eyes Draco. "Speaking of… where _is _the me from the future?"

Draco inhales sharply and purses his lips. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined himself in a situation where he had to tell Hermione that her future self had died in a tragic accident. Before he could frame his thoughts into a comprehensible sentence, however, Hermione is already nodding in understanding.

"The journal also mentioned that my future self was never meant to survive the journey." Her eyes are glistening with unshed tears, but Draco also sees the fierce determination in them. She will not cry. "But neither were you," she adds. "Yet here you are."

"We planned to 'erase our existence' from the future while in the past so as to prevent this timeline from splitting from our future and creating an alternate dimension."

"So Harry is alive in the same timeline and not an alternate reality," Hermione finishes with a nod of understanding.

"Right. But the plan was for us to both drink a potion that would slow down our body processes until they stopped completely while within a self-destructing enchantment that would evaporate our bodies and prevent them from being found," Draco concludes.

Hermione frows. "So quite literally wiping you from existence."

"Exactly."

"But?"

Draco hesitates, looking away as he squares his jaw and prepares to tell her the painful truth that he himself is struggling to come to terms with. "But you got caught up in the accident. You managed to save Harry, but…" He shakes his head. "You believed that you were always meant to die if Harry was to live—a life for a life; alchemy's first law of equivalent exchange."

His fingers are clutched tight in a fist, and it takes Draco several long breaths to push back the wave of sadness that overcomes him. When he finally turns to look at Hermione, she has her head in her hands.

"No, that can't be right," she says, her voice muffled by her hands. "Either both of us—you and the me from the future—should've died together, or we should've been forced to return to our own timeline. Only one of us surviving would throw the entire continuum off kilter."

She looks at Draco, the urgency in her eyes alarming him. "Maybe that's why both you and I are stuck here," she whispers. "Because _both _of us need to—"

"Wait, wait," Draco interjects, shaking his head. "But you said—the equivalent exchange—"

"That never involved _us_!" Hermione exclaims, motioning between them. She quickly looks around and mutters a hurried _Muffliato. _

"What do you mean?" Draco demands, his brain going haywire.

Hermione focuses her intense gaze on Draco and points a finger at the ward behind her. "Harry is currently in there mourning the death of Draco from 2002."

Draco stares at her, then at the glass double doors, his brain slowly connecting the dots. "pDraco is… is _dead_?" he whispers.

Hermione nods. "Passed away the night of the accident. His injuries were too severe to treat."

"That can't be right," Draco gasps. "How—How am _I _even alive, then? I can't possibly be alive if my past self is dead—unless…" he trails off, his eyes widening, a lump forming in his throat, "unless we ended up creating an alternate reality after all."

Hermione swipes a hand across her cheek, the tears creating a wet streak diagonally across her face. "We can't say that for certain. There's no way for us to know what caused the past and the future to get this messed up or why the me from the future ended up dying in the first place."

Draco rubs a hand down his face. "She said the Time-Turner's chain snapped. I—we got separated. I landed several hundred feet away from the scene of the accident and she landed right in front of the car."

Hermione stares at Draco for a long moment. "But," she says slowly, her voice straining, "didn't you arrive at the scene _after _the accident had already happened?"

A shiver runs down Draco's spine. Hermione is right; he _had _arrived after the car had already crashed into the tree. But then… how in the world had Hermione gotten caught between the car and the tree? How had she managed to _Accio _Harry out of the car _before _it crashed?

"Shite," he swears. "She must've snapped the chain on purpose. She—you had already been to the scene of the crash once. You _knew _that once the branch impaled Harry, it would be too late to save him. So the only way to save him was to get to him _before _the crash. But that would be incredibly dangerous since there's no way of knowing where you would land."

Draco is shaking with anger and sadness. Hermione had planned it all! Her whole story of them dying together was a hoax to get Draco to agree to time traveling with her, he is sure. A sob escapes his lips as he clutches Hermione's arm. "There was never a way to save Harry _and _ourselves, was there?"

Hermione shakes her head, the tears spilling down her cheeks as she cries quietly. "Knowing myself, I must've separated myself from you and spun the Time-Turner again to arrive a few seconds before you did. It would've been a risk, but considering I was willing to die, I must've just decided to go through with it."

"This is insane," Draco hisses. "You are insane."

"I really can't guess how much the me from the future had anticipated to happen. I don't know if she had guessed that the realities would be split anyway. I don't know if she _intended _for the two of us to get stuck together in the past so we can figure out a way to go to the future of _this _timeline, where Harry is alive and well, and so are you."

They sit quietly for several minutes, each processing everything they had just discussed, the answers all falling into place like pieces of a puzzle. What kind of wild genius had Hermione from the future been to have anticipated all of these variables to fall in line exactly the way they had that she took such a calculated risk?

"There's only one thing that still doesn't add up," Hermione says finally, breaking the silence.

"Really? Just one?" Draco replies with a scoff.

Hermione shoots a glare in his direction before continuing. "If the Draco from this timeline is dead and you are now the only Draco alive and well, then what about me? What about the Hermione from this timeline—who is perfectly fine, by the way, I checked—what happens to us?" She tucks a nonexistent strand of hair behind her ear. "If the me from the future intended for you and I to get stuck in the past so we can figure out a way to get to a future where Harry is alive, then what happens to me once we figure that out? Do I just disappear? Do I go back to my own reality? Or do I continue to exist in this timeline without ever being able to reveal myself to be who I really am?"

"It's not like I can reveal myself to be who I really am either. The me in this world is dead, remember?" Draco says.

Hermione mulls over that and then lets out a sigh of resignation. "This is all too much. I have no idea what we need to do first when there's so much we don't know or understand."

Before Draco can respond, the double doors of the Wainscott Ward open, and out steps the last person either of them had expected to see.

A 23-year-old Harry Potter walks past them, the hood of his jumper pulled over his head and his hands stuffed in his pockets as he keeps his eyes fixed on the ground. He looks exactly as he has in Draco's memories for the past ten years, and Draco finds himself having to clutch the edges of his seat to keep from jumping up to grab Harry and pull him into a hug.

Once Harry turns the corner, Draco exhales the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "He's alive," he whispers to no one in particular.

He feels the warmth of Hermione's palm as she places her hand on his shoulder and squeezes. "And so are you," she whispers.

A lump forms in Draco's throat as he understands what she's implying. Harry is dead in Draco's world and Draco is dead in Harry's world, but some twist of fate has brought them together once more. This is not an opportunity of a lifetime. It is an impossible miracle. And he needs to make the best of it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: The Meeting**

* * *

Draco paces up and down the length of Hermione's lab as he mulls over the recent happenings. He has been unable to explain the existence of the lab because although the lab itself looks exactly like it did when he left it in 2012, the house above, whose basement the lab is built in, is what it used to be in 2002. With a sigh of frustration, Draco settles down on the lone sofa pushed into the far corner and looks around the room.

Hermione has been gracious enough to convert a portion of the lab into a living space for him because he is still wary of returning to the Manor, unwilling to stumble upon his very much alive mother, who still lived there in 2002. He had avoided her by chance the morning he had awoken there thanks to the sheer size of his family home and his mother's preference to stay in one corner of the Manor at all times.

Hermione had also taken the liberty of setting up a convenient story for him to meet with Harry in the two days that had passed since he met her.

Using Draco's actual mind healer credentials from their world, they created a convincing new identity for Draco, accurate documentation and all. He would approach Harry on the behest of the Ministry in order to conduct some psychological evaluations to determine whether or not Harry is fit for service and is able to return to his post in the Auror Office.

They were able to get Harry's approval for this fairly easily as that world's Hermione and Ron were insistent on returning Harry to his daily routine and were ready to take any opportunity to push him out of the Wainscott Ward, where Harry had taken up residence since the accident.

Draco checks his wristwatch again and rises to his feet as the time for his appointment draws near. Examining his appearance in the mirror by the door, he inhales deeply as he takes in his disguise.

His normally platinum-coloured hair is now more grey than blond, although it is still styled in the usual half swept back manner he prefers. The crinkles around his eyes are now more pronounced crow's feet, and his skin looks a little less youthful than it normally does. He has on a pair of rectangular half-rimmed glasses placed along the bridge of his now rounded nose, and his usually steel-grey eyes are now more of a dull blue.

He wears an off-white healer's coat over gunmetal grey trousers and a powder blue shirt, his Ministry-appointed healer badge adorning the neatly pressed coat lapels. At first glance, Draco looks so convincingly like a senior healer that Hermione had reassured him that nobody would think twice before admitting him entry.

Checking his watch again for good measure, and clutching the handle of his briefcase tight, Draco spins on the spot, his nerves consuming the brief moment of Apparition and leaving him breathless when he stumbles to a stop behind St Mungo's.

"Get it together, Malfoy," he admonishes himself under his breath, straightening his coat and ensuring his briefcase is still intact before entering the hospital.

It takes him far less time to reach the Wainscott Ward this time, habit taking his feet there despite his preoccupied mind, and as he steps through the frosted doors, butterflies erupt in his stomach.

The ward looks newer than he remembers it. The wallpapers are still bright and mostly intact, devoid of any angry gashes, sagging clumps, or random patches where patients have attacked or picked at the walls. The countertops are newly varnished and reflective, and the staff looks younger and more passionate than he ever remembers them to be.

As Draco walks up to the front desk, his heart does a little somersault. Behind the desk, in her neatly pressed green healer robes, is the woman who was the first to befriend Draco when he joined the Wainscott Ward in 2005. Their friendship had remained as strong and loyal on the day he left his world as it had the first day he accepted her offer to join her for lunch.

"Good morning." Draco works hard on ensuring that his smile does not falter and his voice does not quaver as the witch looks up to meet his eyes. "I'm here to see a Mr Harry Potter."

She's young—younger than he remembers—and is clearly new to her job, because she flounders, looking around with a panicked expression, before meeting his gaze again and saying, "I'm so sorry; I'm just a temp, and I'm just manning the front desk until Mathilda gets back. If you could wait just a moment, I could go look for her—oh, but I'm not allowed to leave the desk empty… erm…"

"That's quite alright, Nancy," he responds with a kind smile, glancing down at her nametag to make his knowing her name seem less strange. "I make it a point to arrive earlier than later for my appointments, so I can wait until Mathilda's back."

"I'm awfully sorry," she says, her cheeks flushed and looking like she is a moment away from bursting into tears. "Let me make a few phone calls and see if I can't find her. Please, take a seat."

She gestures to the plush sofas lining the walls opposite the front desk, and Draco settles down, watching as she hurriedly whispers into the receiver. He's never seen the reliable Nancy in such a tizzy in all his time working in the Wainscott Ward, and he finds his own nerves settling as he watches her fret and worry. He finds it refreshing to see her this way, even going so far as imagining himself pulling the leg of the Nancy from his world, only to remember that may not be a possibility.

That sobers him down fairly quickly, and Draco stares at the round coffee table before him, mentaly preparing himself for the confrontation to come.

"So sorry to make you wait, Healer Greene," a familiar voice says from above him, and Draco looks up into the wrinkled face of a stern witch.

_Mathilda,_ Draco thinks with a sense of frightened amusement. She was the very first matron of the Wainscott Ward and someone everyone was terrified of, patients and staff alike. It was only when she succumbed to her own mental illness and became a permanent resident of the ward that everyone saw her in a kinder light.

"We were expecting you at half past," she says in her usual, clipped tone as she checks her antique pocket watch.

"I can wait," Draco responds evenly, trying not to succumb to the very visceral fear she stirs up from deep within him.

"No need," the matron says in her leathery voice. "Follow me, please."

Draco does as he is told, following behind her hobbling figure as she makes her way down to the back, where the patient's rooms are. They walk to the very end of the hallway and stop in front of the very last door, and Mathilda raps on it thrice.

Draco's heart is beating a steady rhythm in his chest, nearly jumping out of his mouth when the door opens to reveal…

...One Mrs Williamson, or Hermione2 in disguise. Draco almost swears aloud, taken aback by the suddenness of her appearance. He had expected to see Harry, not her_. _

"Thank you for the muffins, Mrs Williamson," a younger Hermione says as she ushers the older witch out a little more enthusiastically than one would a welcome guest.

"I'll bring some more next time," Mrs Williamson, aka Hermione2, chirrups, patting a younger Hermione on her arm.

"Right, next time," Ron Weasley says, looking somewhat green.

"Nice to see you healing up well, my dear," Mrs Williamson says to Harry, who is peering out from over Ron's shoulder. "Get some rest now; you deserve it!"

The trio murmur goodbyes to Mrs Williamson, and as she brushes past Draco, she looks at him and shoots him a surreptitious wink, seeming to be thoroughly amused. Draco clears his throat and returns his focus to the curious eyes watching him, donning his 'professional healer smile' and waiting to be introduced.

"This is Healer Greene," Mathilsa croaks, flapping a hand in Draco's direction. "He's here to meet Mr Potter."

"Oh, of course," Hermione says, ushering Draco inside as Mathilda excuses herself and bustles away. "Please, come on in."

Draco steps into what looks to be more of a hotel suite than a hospital room, trying not to raise his eyebrows in surprise at the sitting room he's entered. He spies the bedroom through the doorway beyond the kitchenette on the right and presumes that the door directly in front of him, on the far wall, leads to the bathroom. The Harry he knew wasn't one to splurge on fancy hospital rooms, despite having the financial capacity to do so, so this was an interesting turn of events that Draco is intrigued by.

Hermione leads him to the group of sofas to the left. "Thank you for coming all the way," she says, seeming relieved by Draco's presence. "We're glad the Ministry has been so proactive about this entire process."

"It's my pleasure," Draco responds as he seats himself and smiles at the trio looking at him with varying degrees of discomfort. Hermione seems the most eager, and Harry the least, with Ron falling in between the two, the mixture of scepticism and hope evident on his face.

Draco lets his eyes linger on Harry for a moment longer than is appropriate. Harry looks exactly like he has in Draco's memories for the past ten years and not a day older. He sits with his legs crossed, his body angled away from Draco, one arm draped along the back of the armchair as he taps a finger against the leather impatiently. His eyes are an intense green, his gaze probing, and the clothes he's wearing matches his hair: black and disheveled. His mouth is downturned in obvious distaste, and it is disgruntling to see him this explicitly unhappy at meeting Draco, a perfect stranger to him, for the very first time.

If anything, that is the only difference between the Harry from his memories and the Harry seated before him. The former always put on a pleasant smile even if he wasn't in the best mood when he was amongst strangers, but the latter… couldn't seem to care less.

Draco finds himself yearning to see that lopsided grin again and has to tear his eyes away to keep from breaking down. He focuses, instead, on the couple seated adjacent to him.

"I'm Jeremy Greene." Draco introduces himself with the pseudonym he had picked. He places his briefcase on the floor and makes himself comfortable. "I'll be Mr Potter's mind healer for the foreseeable future."

"Foreseeable future?" Harry replies, his brows furrowed. "I thought this was a one-time thing."

"Now, Harry," Hermione chides gently, although the look she shoots Harry is anything but gentle, "I told you how the process would work, didn't I?"

_Hermione would know,_ Draco thinks to himself. He remembers the stories Harry used to tell him of the extensive research and preparation Hermione did before her Ministerial induction, and then Hermione's own recollections of the same, years later.

"Yeah, but you said that was for more complicated cases," Harry challenges, clearly displeased with the situation he is being forced into. "I only suffered minor injuries."

"You're also refusing to leave the psychiatric ward of a hospital because you don't think you'll be able to stay alone in your fully warded flat, or a hotel room, for that matter, despite only suffering minor injuries," Ron says, deadpan.

Harry frowns at Ron, his hands balling into fists, his cheeks flushing in anger, but the latter only shrugs, as though to say _I speak only the truth and nothing but._

"Why don't we start off with today's session and take it from there?" Draco says, interrupting the tension as graciously as he can. "You may not even need more than one session."

An unconvincing lie, but Draco knows to say what his clients want to hear in order to placate them and get them into a head peace where they are more willing to accept his help. And right now, Harry seems less than willing to even make eye contact with him, let alone spend multiple sessions baring his heart and soul to Draco.

"I think that sounds great," Hermione chimes in, literally on the edge of her seat as she clutches the sofa's armrest with white knuckles, her expression pleading as she looks at Harry. _You promised, _Draco could hear her try to communicate nonverbally to Harry, and the latter acquiesces with a sigh of resignation.

"Fine. Let's get this over with, then."

"Before we begin," Draco says, looking between Ron and Hermione, "is there anything either of you would like to say before I have Harry to myself?"

"Not really," Ron says at the exact same moment as Hermione says, "Yes, we would."

She shoots him a withering glare, and Ron winces, nodding his consent to her demands. "Yeah, we would."

Harry throws his arms into the air, clearly exasperated with the two of them, and rises to his feet. "I'll just be in the other room, then," he says sardonically. "Holler if you need me."

He exits the room before anyone can reply, and both Hermione and Ron sigh. Draco watches Harry shut the bedroom door, an odd sense of detached sadness spreading through him.

"Sorry about that," Hermione says softly, bringing Draco back to reality. "Ever since the accident, he's been…" she trails off, shaking her head, tears springing to her eyes.

Ron puts an arm around her and pulls her close, murmuring gently to comfort her.

She dries her eyes and offers Draco a smile. "What would you like to know?"

Draco returns her smile, brings out his briefcase, clicks it open, and pulls out a couple forms. He hands them over to the duo, who accept the papers with looks of apprehension.

"Consent forms," he says in answer to their questioning expressions. "It's just standard Ministry procedure; nothing too complicated." He points at a space provided at the bottom. "Please sign here."

Ron signs immediately, but Hermione takes a few moments to skim through the form before signing. They hand the papers over to Draco, and he replaces them in his briefcase, dawdling for a few seconds in order to give them some time to compose themselves. He doesn't have to do this, he knows, but he is nothing if not thorough, and he wants his act to be as convincing for as long as possible.

Once he senses they're ready, he sits back and smiles at them. "Before we begin, I'd like to introduce myself again. My name is Jeremy Greene. I've been consulting on and off with the Ministry for a few months now and volunteered to take on this case. You can call me Healer Greene or Jeremy—or even Jim—whatever you're comfortable with."

He pauses and waits, and for a few moments Hermione and Ron just stare at him before Hermione suddenly realises that he's waiting for them to introduce themselves and pats Ron on the knee.

"I'm Hermione. This is Ron. But I'm sure you know that already." She laughs awkwardly. "We've been Harry's best friends for over a decade now." She pauses to glance at Ron, who nods reassuringly at her and holds her hand. She looks back at Draco and clears her throat. "Everything was going so well for him. He'd been doing so well after the war. We—We even think he'd been seeing someone before the accident."

"It seemed like he was pretty serious about them, too," Ron added.

Draco has to use every bit of his willpower to keep from reacting to that. Every ounce of strength in him goes into keeping his expression neutral and his posture relaxed, but he can't help but swallow thickly as a lump forms in his throat.

Belatedly, he realises that Ron had used a gender neutral pronoun when referring to Harry's mystery partner, and that makes him appreciate the other man much more.

"But," Hermione continues, floundering. "Everything changed after the accident. He told us that he was driving to a Potions symposium he'd been invited to—which was very strange, both the fact that he wanted to go to a Potions symposium as well as the fact that he wanted to drive there—and the next thing he says he remembers is waking up in a hospital bed." She shakes her head. "He's always been invited to something or the other ever since the war, random invites that people just send him for want of publicity and to say _oh the hero of the wizarding world was at our event_. But this is the first time he's ever wanted to attend one of them, and it wasn't even something he was interested in."

Ron, who is watching Hermione closely and letting her do most of the talking, doing no more than squeezing her hand or comforting her when he deems necessary, decides to speak. "I didn't tell you this, 'Mione, because I thought it wasn't my place to, but Harry let it slip to me that he had planned a whole weekend with the person he was seeing and only decided to attend the symposium because a professor that his date admired would be there."

Hermione stares at Ron, aghast. "What are you saying?" She gasps. "Wait, does that mean Harry wasn't alone when—"

She cuts herself off abruptly, sitting back with a look of horror on her face. Ron shakes his head quickly. "No, I don't think so. I went with the team of Aurors that was sent to inspect the scene of the accident. There were no traces of any other person being there but Harry."

Draco, who is jotting down notes in his notepad, suddenly looks up. "Sorry, when did you say you conducted this inspection?"

"A few days after the accident. We hadn't heard from Harry over the weekend but didn't think much of it since he said he wanted a quiet weekend to himself, so when we heard that he'd been in an accident, it had already been two days since it happened."

"Mrs Williamson found him," Hermione adds. "He was apparently unconscious for two days due to a bad concussion or something, but the doctors in the Muggle hospital she admitted him to weren't really sure. It took her a couple days to think to look for wizard identification—which she did only after overhearing the Muggle police saying they couldn't find any ID on him, she said—and contacted us the moment she did."

"By the time I could get permission from the higher ups to join the investigation, the scene had already been swept by the Muggle police. It took us a while longer to get them to cooperate long enough to give us information regarding the evidence collected, but…"

Ron shakes his head, looking perplexed. "They never mentioned any trace of another person having been in the car. They theorised that Harry got lucky—that he jumped out of the car when he realised the brakes weren't working and just barely missed a grisly death."

He grimaces at his own words, but Draco leans forward suddenly, his heartbeat spiking at Ron's final remark. "You said the brakes weren't working," he says. "Was that just bad luck, or…?"

Ron jerks upright and gestures to Hermione, his eyes wide. "You see?" he says, his voice high-pitched. "I _told _you I wasn't being paranoid in thinking that someone had tampered with the car!"

Hermione shakes her head. "We haven't found any evidence that points towards sabotage of any kind. The car was a rental, and it wasn't particularly new either; there could've been any number of reasons for why the brakes—"

"What did the owner of the car say?" Draco interrupts.

Hermione looks at Ron, who shakes his head. "The man has no memory of renting out the car. He had even filed a report of it being stolen a few days prior."

"Memory charm?" Draco asks.

"We suspect so. But you know the new laws of using magic on a Muggle—" Ron abruptly cuts himself off, frowning at Draco. "I'm sorry; I thought you wanted to talk about Harry?"

Draco sits back, startled, and realises he had been trying to gain more information regarding the accident without meaning to. Hermione2 had already told him whatever 'Mrs Williamson' had done with regards to finding Harry.

She had been knocked unconscious when attempting to use the Time Turner in much the same way Draco had—and suspects that Harry had as well. When she came to, she found herself in an empty hallway of the Muggle hospital she had brought pDraco to. After some sleuthing, she found out that pDraco had passed away the previous evening, and Harry had regained consciousness around the same time she had. Just like Hermione and Ron had just told Draco, Hermione2 had also said that she and Harry had been unconscious for two days.

After some memory manipulation of the hospital staff, Hermione2 had returned to the scene of the accident that night and wiped all traces of pDraco having been there. The Muggle police had arrived the next morning after someone had reported the accident on the less-traveled road, and Mrs Williamson had made the phonecall to Hermione and Ron immediately after to inform them of Harry's accident.

The rest of the story went as Ron had just told Draco, but Draco had still wanted to confirm his suspicions of sabotage and had ended up getting carried away in the process.

"I apologise for the prying questions," Draco says at once. "I have to make sure I have all the facts before I talk to Mr Potter."

"To make sure he's telling the truth," Hermione adds.

Draco tilts his head, catching the hint of suspicion in her voice. "Do you think he's being dishonest, Hermione—may I call you Hermione?"

"Please," she says, and then nods. "Although it pains me to admit it, I do think so, yes. Even more so now that Ron's said Harry mentioned wanting to attend the symposium with a date." She leans forward, her eyes an intense brown. "But there was nobody with him at the time of the accident. That can only mean one thing: his date must have called things off before the trip."

Draco almost laughs at the innocent suggestion but manages to keep his expression neutral. "That seems like the logical conclusion," Draco agrees for the sake of appearances. "What exactly do you think he's being dishonest about, Hermione?"

She glances at Ron, who shrugs. She looks back at Draco and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking conflicted over exposing her best friend in this manner. Draco smiles. "You don't have to answer that question if you're not comfortable."

"No, I—" she shakes her head. "I think the reason he's afraid to go back to his flat is because the person he was seeing may be there."

"Were they living together?"

"Not really," Ron answers. "But I think he—and I say he because I saw men's footwear and clothes at Harry's place when I appeared unannounced one time that I know don't belong to Harry, so I think his partner was a man—but, as I was saying, I think he—or she, I could be wrong—may have been staying at Harry's place on and off for a while."

Draco nods. It was the truth, after all. His relationship with his mother had grown strained ever since his father's arrest, subsequent imprisonment, and finally, his untimely death. Her choice to lead the life of a recluse and shut him out completely was something he could still tolerate, but when he had found her signing papers to relinquish ownership of Malfoy Manor one day, without ever mentioning it to him, he had had enough.

He'd stormed out in a rage and Apparated to Harry's flat without thinking, and the man had been gracious enough to let him stay for as long as he needed—something else that had confirmed to Draco that Harry's feelings towards him had changed, much like his own. Their relationship had been kept secret from all their friends for reasons neither ever brought up but were equally happy with—in the same way that neither ever put a label to what they were. Friends? More than friends? Lovers? He would never know.

Draco had always had a feeling that Harry had intended to have a proper conversation about it with him while on their trip—a conversation that never happened because Harry never saw that trip through to the end.

Shaking himself free of his painful thoughts, Draco returns his focus to the duo sitting before him. "If you don't mind me asking, how come neither of you checked his flat for him? If they did, in fact, break it off, as you suspect, then it's quite likely that his partner vacated the flat."

Hermione and Ron share another hesitant look. They seem uncomfortable speaking about this mystery partner of Harry's, as though they feel like that's a line they shouldn't cross. Finally, Hermione says, "We did suggest that to him, but…" She shakes her head and wrings her hands. "Like I said in the beginning, ever since the accident, he's been… different. Distant. Almost like he's being haunted by a ghost."

"He gets like that sometimes," Ron admits quietly, his hand reaching out to hold Hermione's to stop her wringing. "When it gets close to the death anniversaries of people he loved." His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows, and he looks emotional. "When he gets like that, he's unreachable. It's like he's only here physically, but his soul is in another world."

"We've tried to coax him to talk to us about what happened—about the accident or his partner, anything—but he refuses to say anything beyond 'I don't remember' or 'I don't know'." Hermione's voice breaks. "He won't let anybody visit him but us. He refuses to leave this place. And with every day that passes, he seems to vanish deeper into himself. We—We're afraid we'll be unable to reach him at all, at this rate."

Draco jots down a few notes on his notepad and then looks up at the two with a kind smile. "Thank you for sharing all of this with me. I know it must've been difficult."

They shake their heads. "Anything for Harry," Ron says, his voice rough with emotion. "We almost lost our best friend once. We'll do anything to make sure that doesn't happen a second time."

"We wouldn't be able to live with ourselves if it does," Hermione whispers, sniffing, and Draco's heart breaks.

He knows this scene. He's seen it so many times before. He knows how much truth is in their words because he has seen what broken lives Ron and Hermione lead without Harry. It was to the point that Hermione was willing to sacrifice herself just to ensure that Harry would live and that she would no longer had to live in a world without her best friend.

"Please, Healer Greene," Hermione says, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please help Harry."

Draco reached forward to take her hand and squeeze it. "I'll do everything in my power. I hope you can believe that."

Hermione smiles through her tears and nods. "Thank you."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: The Truth**

* * *

Draco watches as Hermione and Ron walk to the bedroom door. Ron knocks twice and waits. There is no response, and he glances at Hermione, the worry clear on his face even from across the room. He has his wand half drawn, presumably to unlock the door by force, but the lock clicks just then and the door swings open.

Harry steps out, looking somewhat less irritated than when he had stormed off, and after a brief conversation, he follows Ron and Hermione to where Draco is standing.

"It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Healer Greene," Ron says formally, shaking Draco's hand.

"The pleasure is mine," Draco replies, then turns to Hermione, who takes his hands in both of hers.

"We really appreciate you doing this," she says, and for a moment Draco almost laughs. Ron and Hermione are behaving like the parents of a moody teenager, and Harry seems to feel the same way, because he looks rather embarrassed and uncomfortable as he watches his two best friends profusely thank Draco.

"Call us once you're done," Hermione says to Harry as they make their way to the door.

"OK."

"As soon as possible," she insists.

"Yes, Mother," Harry says, making Hermione flush. He hugs her quickly and murmurs something to her that Draco doesn't catch, but that seems to placate her, and with final waves of goodbye, the dynamic duo are gone.

Harry returns to Draco and motions towards the sofas. Draco resumes his previous position on the armchair, and so does Harry, sitting directly across from Draco, quite some distance away.

It isn't the most appropriate seating arrangement, but Draco doesn't move closer, nor does he ask Harry to. This is as clear a sign of resistance as any, and Draco knows better than anyone that trust is not given freely. It is earned, and it is earned over time.

So he Levitates the consent form to Harry, along with a Self-inking Quill, and waits as Harry snatches the form out of the air, offers it a cursory glance, quickly signs where he has to, and returns it to Draco in the same manner.

Harry asks no questions, and Draco offers no explanations. The purpose of his visit was always clear, but Draco has a feeling that Harry wasn't just sitting idly in the bedroom while the former had a chat with Ron and Hermione.

As though reading his mind, Harry abruptly says, "Let's get straight to the point. I overheard your conversation with Ron and Hermione."

Draco does not respond immediately. Instead, he observes Harry for a moment. Harry sits with his legs crossed as before, his body angled away from Draco, one arm draped over the back of the armchair and the other one's elbow resting on the arm rest. His posture indicates that he is closed off and unwilling to engage. He is trying to portray the image of someone unconcerned and indifferent, but Draco knows better. He knows that, after listening to his best friends' genuine concern, Harry would be anything but unconcerned and indifferent.

The trick is to get Harry to admit that without Draco asking directly. So Draco places his hands in his lap and dons his healer smile.

"Thank you for being honest. I appreciate you being straightforward with me."

Harry is observing him in much the same he is observing Harry. The younger man tilts his head, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "You don't seem surprised by my admission."

Draco's smile widens. "If I were to be perfectly candid, you aren't my first distrustful client, Mr Potter."

Harry's demeanour changes, then. He uncrosses his legs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. His previously deep green, brooding eyes are now a glittering emerald, and the corners of his mouth are twitching upwards in a smile. Harry may not know it, but this is already a sign of progress to Draco because the former's posture has now opened up, and he seems curious enough to engage with Draco.

"You seem to be good at your job, Healer Greene," Harry comments, and Draco, in the back of his mind, wonders if this is what it's like being interrogated by Auror Potter. He can't say he dislikes it. "No wonder the Ministry sent you."

Draco decides that he enjoys playing this game of subtle manipulation with Harry. They did it when they first met after the war and were feeling each other out, and they did it again when they started to become more interested in each other. Both their professions deemed it necessary that they be able to glean information from anybody, and it was indeed a practiced skill to succeed in being able to convince even the most tight-lipped person to spill their deepest, darkest secrets.

Draco is even willing to admit that Harry has a particular talent for earning a person's trust. He has that charm about him that makes it so easy to trust, so easy to believe; it's disarming in the most wonderfully cruel ways.

Coming back to the present moment, Draco asks, "Why do you say so, Harry—do you mind if I call you Harry?" Harry shrugs noncommittally, and Draco repeats his question. "What makes you think I'm good at my job?"

Harry does not answer. He changes position again, crossing his legs, but this time he is still facing Draco. He props an elbow on the armrest and scratches his chin, seemingly deep in thought.

"You don't have to answer that if you're not comfortable," Draco says. His voice is gentle, but he leans forward and makes sure his eyes hold Harry's gaze. His suggestion was meant to sound like an easy escape from an uncomfortable situation, but a lot of people take it as a challenge. This time, Draco has made certain the challenge was explicit.

To his surprise, Harry laughs. Not a sarcastic, mocking laugh, but one of genuine amusement. He shakes his head, chuckling to himself, his shoulders trembling from the force of his mirth. He looks at Draco, and the way that lopsided grin brightens up his face transports Draco to a time when he was younger and so in love.

How much I yearned to see that smile, he thinks, his heart bleeding. For how many years have I wished that I could see that face just one more time.

Inhaling deeply, Draco calms himself and focuses on remaining composed. His heart is racing, there are butterflies tumbling about in his stomach, and his palms are a sweaty, slippery mess, but his expression is neutral and his posture is relaxed.

"I feel like I can trust you, Healer Greene—Jim?" Harry says, relaxing in his seat, and Draco is slightly taken aback by how quickly the bespectacled man changed his opinion of Draco. He thought it would take at least another session to get this new angsty, closed off version of Harry to open up to him.

Call me Draco, he wants to say, and it physically pains him that he cannot. So, instead, he nods in affirmation. "I'm glad to hear that, Harry."

"You look like you want to know what made me change my mind," Harry says, his index finger crooked and running back and forth along his lower lip in a motion Draco recognises immediately. Harry is genuinely enjoying himself.

"I have to say, you would make quite a good mind healer yourself," Draco says lightly.

"I'm actually aiming to be a detective," Harry admits. "Or I was, at least. Before, you know…"

Draco nods. He does, in fact, know. Harry had come to him, deeply conflicted, telling him how unfulfilling being a regular, uniformed Auror was but how he was unsure if he would be good at anything else. He had gotten into the force with just some basic training thanks to his real battle experience, as had Ron and Neville Longbottom, but after a few years doing more or less the same old things, not one of the three thought being an Auror was their calling.

Draco remembers that Longbottom was already planning on quitting the force and training to be a professor in 2002. Ron was hanging on mostly because of Harry, but Draco knows that Ron, too, would eventually quit—or at least he had in a world without Harry, but not that much changes in an individual's decision-making process even if circumstance does, Draco has come to realise.

Draco also knows that Harry had suddenly gained an interest in being a detective after working a case with a particularly good Muggle one and had intended to start studying for the exam once they were back from their trip. He realises that Harry now has a chance to fulfil that aspiration.

"You don't want to be a detective anymore?" Draco asks.

Harry shrugs a shoulder. His focus is on his fingers as he idly plays with them, but Draco can see the conflict in his eyes.

"Why not?" Draco presses.

After a long moment of silence, Harry murmurs, "Because the man that inspired me to follow my dreams and not be tied down by others' expectations of me is no longer here."

That statement hits Draco head on like a blast of compressed air, slamming into him with so much force that it takes the wind right out of his lungs. I know what that feels like, he wants to yell. I know what it's like to suddenly lose the one person that made you want to believe in yourself.

It is painful, sitting across from Harry like this, pretending to be someone else, unable to speak his truth. It is even more painful than living in a world without him.

He suddenly wants to give up this whole charade, wants to rip off his disguise and tell Harry everything, but he knows he cannot.

At least, not yet, a voice whispers in the back of his mind, and he steels his resolve. He is here to help Harry, not wallow in self pity. And help Harry is what he is going to do, irrespective of what that means for him.

"Would you like to elaborate on that?" Draco asks, his voice low because he is afraid that Harry can hear the tremor in it.

The long pauses between his questions and Harry's answers are making Draco impatient, but he knows he has no choice but to wait it out. He has to.

"Ron and Hermione mentioned him, you know," Harry says. "Not by name, because I hadn't told them, but their suspicions weren't unfounded. There was someone—someone very important to me."

Draco feels like someone has reached into his chest to grab a hold of his heart and is squeezing it tight.

"And he—" Harry stops, shaking his head, his gaze still on his hands, "he's gone."

Draco does not speak. Or rather he could not. I'm right here, Harry! He screams on the inside, but he presses his lips shut on the outside and swallows down the words.

Harry suddenly looks up to meet Draco's gaze, and the latter starts in surprise. "You remind me of him, for some reason," Harry says in a thoughtful tone of voice. "I don't know why, but you do."

"What about me specifically?" Draco asks, his heart racing.

Harry shakes his head, sitting back slowly. "I don't know." Draco waits. Harry shrugs. "The way you look at me, I guess."

Oh shite, Draco thinks. Have I been exposed?

He tries not to panic, to remain calm and composed both inside and out, to not reveal anymore to Harry than he already inadvertently has.

"What do you mean by that?" he asks quickly.

Harry laughs, his eyes dropping down to his hands again. "What does it matter? I know you're not him. No matter how much I wish you or anybody else was him, I know it's impossible. He's gone."

Draco inhales deeply, swallowing down the lump in his throat and rapidly blinking the tears from his eyes. "Where has he gone, Harry?"

Harry seems to ponder over that question for a time. He scoffs. "Heaven, I guess? That's not really something I believe in, but maybe I'll start believing in it now, just for my peace of mind."

Draco debates with himself for a long moment, wondering if he should ask the question he wants to. Finally, he decides he will take the risk. "Harry," he says, gentle, as he leans forward. "Was this person with you during the accident?"

Harry's eyes look at everything in the room but Draco. Finally, after an inordinate amount of time has passed, emerald eyes settle on Draco, a deep sadness shimmering within them.

"I'll answer that question, but only if you swear to never repeat what I say to anyone."

Draco nods. "There will be complete confidentiality—"

"No." Harry shakes his heads. "You need to swear it."

Draco frowns. "I don't understand what you mean."

"I need you to give me your word."

Draco stares at Harry for a long moment, his words finally makes sense to him. He shakes his head instantly. "I will not make an Unbreakable Vow with you, Harry. Not because I am afraid of breaking it but because I am afraid you may, without intending to."

Harry scoffs. "You think Unbreakable Vows are the only kinds of binding magical contracts?"

Draco purses his lips. Does he mean a Blood Pact? But…

Harry is already coming around the coffee table to stand before Draco, one hand held out palm facing upwards and the other holding his wand. "Well?"

"Are you sure about this, Harry? It could prove to be more dangerous than you anticipate," Draco says hurriedly as he rises to his feet, trying to buy time as he thinks of some other solution.

"I can't risk the Ministry finding out this person's identity," Harry says. "He may be—dead—" he says the word in a quick whisper, "but I won't let them sully his memory. He deserves better than that. Besides…" he trails off, shaking his head. "This accident reeks of foul play. I have a feeling it was me that was not meant to survive. And it won't do me any good if word gets out that someone else died from that accident because that gives the perpetrators a golden opportunity to stop me from finding them by throwing me waist-deep into the chaos that will ensue."

Draco stares at Harry for a long minute, his own experience of taking the blame for Harry's death replaying through his mind. I was too busy wallowing in self pity and grief to even question the nature of the accident beyond a certain point, he thinks, ashamed. Yet here is Harry, already doing one week after the accident what Draco never managed to do in ten years.

Accepting his reality and pressing forward against bitter odds.

A shuddering breath escapes Draco lips, and he almost agrees. Almost, because he still cannot fully accept Harry's proposal. Hermione2 would have to know about whatever Harry said or found out in his investigation of the accident. It may be imperative to them figuring out their situation or how to return to the future.

And once Draco no longer existed in that timeline… then what? The science of time travel fell outside the realm of binding magic. Did it still hold good? Did it have dire consequences? What would happen?

"You know," Harry suddenly says, cutting into Draco's frantic thoughts. "Your voice sounds a lot like his, too. The way you speak—the variation in pitch and tone—they're way too similar to be a coincidence."

What is wrong with this man, Draco can't help but wonder. Is he just mad from grief or mad intuitive?

Harry's lips spread in a thin smile, and there is a knowing look in his eyes. It's almost as if he can see through Draco's disguise, but Draco knows that isn't possible. His disguise is impeccable. There was only one complex part, but it was so unnoticeable and subtle that there was no possible way—

Harry steps closer to Draco, and the latter can see his reflection on Harry's spectacles. He looks back at himself, and it takes him a long, excruciating moment to realise what is wrong.

"You have beautiful eyes," Harry says, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down Draco's spine. "I could've sworn they were bluer than grey, though."

Before Draco can react, Harry has stepped back, drawn his wand across his palm like a knife, and sliced the skin. Draco stares down at the crimson line slowly spreading across the thin gash and finds his breath catching in his throat.

"Keep my secret, Healer Greene, and I'll keep yours," Harry says, pushing his hand towards Draco.

A shuddering laugh escapes Draco's lips. He knows he cannot escape this situation any longer. Harry most likely suspects that he isn't who he claims to be, but he may not actually suspect who Draco really is. Regardless, the Blood Pact requires both parties to speak their real names, and Draco knows he cannot do that. What consequences speaking a false name will have, he does not know.

But he is about to find out.

Gritting his teeth, Draco raises his hand and draws his own wand across it, wincing as the cut opens up and his blood seeps from the wound.

"This is the oath we will make," Harry says, the tips of his fingers brushing against Draco's. "Every word spoken between Harry Potter and Jeremy Greene thus forth shall remain between us and between us alone. They shall never be repeated to anyone else, living or dead."

As Draco brings his palm to press against Harry's and their fingers intertwine, a sudden realisation hits him with the force of the Hogwarts Express.

This is a test. Harry wants to force me into revealing my true identity because he suspects I could be someone associated with those that tried to kill him. He knows the spell won't work if I don't use my real name.

Nevertheless, Draco speaks the oath clearly, knowing the magic will fail and deciding that he will choose his next course of action when it does. He closes his eyes as he feels the tug of the magic from deep within his belly, rising up through his body, coursing through his veins, until it connects with Harry through their intertwined fingers. They let go instinctively, and a drop of blood rises from each of their palms, spiralling around each other as the drops climb through the air and coalesce to form one glittering drop of crimson.

Draco blinks, and the drop explodes. He flinches, expecting to be splattered by blood, but the droplets freeze inches from his face then retract, as though being drawn back to the centre, but instead of re-forming into its original form, the blood shapes itself into an intricate silver vial. Once the vial is formed, it hangs suspended in the air for a long moment then gently lowers itself.

Harry gingerly takes a hold of it and claps it in his free hand. A sudden gush of energy washes back through Draco, and he feels the hold of the magic dissipate. When he glances down at his palm, it is whole. It is almost as if the pact had never been made.

Yet Harry holds the vial between two fingers, his burning green eyes fixed on Draco, and Draco returns his gaze in a confused daze.

The magic had worked. The Blood Pact had been made.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/n: I apologise for the sudden hiatus! I moved to London to do a super intense master's degree in neuroscience and neuropsychology and have barely had the time between uni, my research project, and working part-time. However, my workload has decreased slightly and I have a little more time to write, so hopefully, I should be able to update relatively frequently! I won't make any promises of a consistent upload schedule, but I'm hoping to post one chapter every 2 weeks or so. Thank you for still sticking around and reading! Please do review to let me know your thoughts!**

* * *

**Chapter 8: The Accident**

* * *

Draco stares down at his palm as he sits adjacent to Harry, who has now seated himself on the sofa to the left of Draco, so close that their knees are almost touching. Draco cannot imagine why the Blood Pact has worked despite him speaking a false name. The only explanation he can come up with is that because he is not of this world because the Draco of this world is dead, the magic was forced to acknowledge the pseudonym Draco gave as his real identity.

_Does this mean I can still tell Hermione everything without breaking the pact? _he wonders. _Is the fact that she doesn't belong to this world a loophole as well? _

Draco looks up to meet Harry's burning gaze and smiles nervously. Harry wears a brooding expression on his face, as though he, too, had expected the magic to fail and doesn't know what to do now that it has worked. After a long, uncomfortable moment, he holds up the silver vial.

"Would you like to hold onto this?" he asks.

"It's probably safer with you," Draco says, not too keen on holding onto a vial made out of their coagulated blood.

"Why do you say so?" Harry asks, one eyebrow raised.

Draco shrugs. "I have to turn over all my possessions to the Ministry every day so as to ensure the safety of confidential information," he lies easily. "Although it would be easy enough to hide it, I do not want to take the risk, especially now that I'm actually going to be hiding a whole lot from them."

Harry scoffs. "You sound exasperated by that fact."

Draco is aware of his annoyance coming through in the tone of voice but doesn't attempt to hide it. "Well, it not only gets in the way of my job," he says, "but it also threatens against my life."

"You could have chosen not to do it," Harry offers casually.

"Yes, I could have," Draco says and offers nothing more in argument.

Harry watches him for a long moment, then asks, "So why didn't you?"

Draco sighs and decides to be honest. "Truth be told, I didn't expect it to work, and I'm sure I'm not the only one that thought that."

"The only reason I thought it wouldn't work is because I suspected that you were lying about being sent by the Ministry—they honestly could not care less whether or not I returned back to the force; in fact, I reckon they'd be happier if I didn't—so I decided that forcing you into a corner would be the easiest way to expose you." Harry leans back in his seat and crosses his arms. "At first, I expected you to continue to be against the very notion of forming a blood pact, let alone with me, but when you suddenly agreed to go along with it, I decided that it didn't matter because it wouldn't work anyway and I'd have my answer then."

"Besides," he grumbles after a moment's pause, "I really didn't think it would be _that _easy to cast binding magic."

Draco has to agree with that sentiment. Considering it was a blood oath, it seemed a little too simple. He adds it to the list of unexplainable magical events that have occurred in the recent past and decides to move forward with his original purpose for being there.

"So, do you believe that I am who I say I am now?" Draco asks.

Harry purses his lips. "Not entirely, but I suppose I'll have to until I can prove otherwise."

Draco can't help but smile. "Well, considering we technically _are _bound by a blood pact, I think you can believe me when I say your secret is safe with me."

Harry scoffs. "Right."

When he doesn't seem inclined to come forth with any new information, Draco decides to press him for it.

"You were going to tell me about the accident."

Harry inhales deeply, his gaze fixed on the coffee table before him. He seems to struggle to start, and Draco almost slaps himself for being so insensitive. While he did want to make progress, he had momentarily forgotten that although the accident was decade-old news for him, it was still very fresh in Harry's memory.

Not to mention the fact that he had lost someone dear to him. Of course it would be difficult to speak about.

"It was inconsiderate of me to ask," Draco says quickly. "I apologise if I've brought back unpleasant memories."

Harry waves a hand. "I have to talk about it at some point, don't I? I'd rather get it over with." He inhales deeply and nods, as though resolving himself to get through with it. "What I'm about to tell you is something I've never spoken with anyone else before. I'll recollect the events to the best of my memory, but you'll have to excuse me if certain things don't make sense."

"Of course," Draco agrees quickly. "And, please, if you feel like you can't go on any longer, we can stop at any point."

Harry shoots him a small smile and nods. "Alright, well, I'd like to begin with the reason behind why I think someone wanted me dead. It's going to be long-winded, but wear with me."

Draco waits with bated breath as Harry's expression grows dark, anger shimmering in his eyes. "This wasn't the first time an attempt was made on my life," he says, his voice soft.

"It all started about a year ago; while clearing out the archives, I stumbled upon a cold case that piqued my interest. It was an investigation into a group believed to be pseudo Death Eaters who were masquerading as Muggles and inciting mob violence in Muggle territories. What seemed like isolated incidents slowly started to grow in number, and the Auror Force got involved when a group of young wizards stumbled into a patrol, badly beaten and clinging onto dear life.

"The media caught wind of it and it blew out of proportion—I'm sure you must've heard of it yourself—and the Ministry was forced to look into it. A fairly large task force was formed, and although I wasn't a part of it, I did assist with some parts of the investigation. After several months of finding nothing concrete, we were forced to close the case, much like the Muggles had done."

Harry shrugs. "Bored from the monotony of my job, I decided to look into it again when I found the archived files and did some digging in my free time. I visited the sites of some of the most violent incidents as well as the place where the lads were found, and by sheer chance, I happened to find a pattern of sorts that connected each of the places.

"It wasn't obvious unless you were looking for it—every time it was a different version of the insignia, but it always had the same motif and art style. When I started to put them together serially based on when and where the incidents took place, it was almost like the diagrams were telling a story—like the previous one was meant to give you a hint of where the next one would be."

"Sounds like a very clever yet inconspicuous way to alert the members as to where the next lynching would be," Draco muses quietly.

Harry snaps his fingers. "Bingo. That's exactly what I thought, too, so of course I took it up with my supervisor and begged him to re-open the case." Harry shrugs, an expression of disgust crossing his face. "Of course he just brushed me off, telling me to stop poking my nose where it didn't belong."

"I didn't lay off, though—of course not. I visited more of the sites, some that weren't even mentioned in the case files but that I'd found from deducing what the diagrams at each location meant and started to string them together. By the time I was done, I'd found over two dozen sites and could practically predict where the next site could be."

"Again, I tried to convince my superiors to re-open the case, and again, I got elbowed aside for more insignificant cases. So I took matters into my own hands, and with Ron and Neville's help, staked out what I believed to be the next location for a mob riot."

Harry's shoulders slump then, and he looks disappointed. "I was so convinced I was right—and maybe I was, but maybe the perpetrators had been tipped off somehow, and the hit never came. In the end, the director of the DMLE found out about our little mission and suspended us for two weeks for disobeying orders and threatened more serious action if we attempted to do anything of that sort again."

"Months later, we got a report of a lynching when on patrol, and we had an altercation with a group of Muggles under the Imperius Curse and a handful of wizards in Death Eater robes. Again, I attempted to get the case reopened, and finally, my supervisor pitched it to the higher ups and they agreed for a group of us to look into it."

Harry seems to have grown impatient in narrating a rather lengthy tale, and he sighs, shaking his head. "Anyway, long story short, shortly after the re-investigation began, I started to receive death threats that I ignored. A few months ago, I got quite badly injured while I was investigating a site. A large pipe fell on me and broke my shoulder, nearly cracking my skull open. I also constantly felt like I was being watched, which is why I thought this trip away would be as good a reason as any to let go of my paranoia."

He pauses in his tale, and Draco leans forward in anticipation. "But?"

"There was a break in the case just before I left—we'd found another insignia and were attempting to decipher where the next location would be. We were so close to succeeding that I almost cancelled the trip, but…"

He trails off. "I'd promised my partner we would go, and we'd planned the entire thing, and I thought I could return from it with renewed vigour…"

Draco sits back, somewhat stunned. He had known that Harry was working on an important case but knew nothing of the details since it was confidential. He also knew Harry had broken his shoulder at work but had no idea it was not only related to the case but also threats on Harry's life.

Harry meets Draco's eyes, drawing him from his thoughts. "You see now why I think the car was deliberately sabotaged in order to get rid of me?"

Draco nods slowly, but somehow he isn't as convinced about the entire situation as Harry seems to be. And, quick as ever, Harry catches onto Draco's hesitation.

"You look sceptical," he comments.

"I'm a born sceptic," Draco says with a laugh. "I don't mean to offend."

"None taken," Harry says offhandedly. He watched Draco for a moment longer and says, "A penny for your thoughts?"

"I'm just confused," Draco begins slowly.

"What about?"

"You weren't even the lead investigator on the case. I don't understand why someone would go out of their way to take your life."

Harry nods in understanding. "That's a reasonable line of questioning, especially considering I never actually told you the contents of the death threats I received."

"Let me guess," Draco says, "They threatened to take drastic action if you didn't leave it alone and kept digging."

Harry scoffed. "You'd do well as an Auror; you're rather quick on the uptake."

Draco settles back with a smile. "I wouldn't consider myself a fighter."

"You could be a detective," Harry suggests, a wry smile on his face.

Draco chuckles softly. "I reckon you'd make a better detective than me."

Harry watches Draco for another minute, and Draco feels self-conscious. His heart begins to race, and he thinks about the different aspects of his disguise, wondering if any of them had slipped. He had made sure to change his eye colour to a bluish-grey so that it wasn't too obvious, but it was difficult to maintain a disguise for that long, and sometimes feeling a range of intense emotions could lead to fluctuations in one's magic.

Harry shakes his head and turns away with a smile, a far-away look in his eyes. "I can imagine him being like you in a few years if he were still… here."

"Who?" Draco asks without thinking.

Harry inhales deeply, as though willing himself to say the name. "The one who was with me during the accident."

Draco doesn't expect Harry to say his name, considering how vague he had been about it so far. But Harry clears his throat and whispers, his voice thick, Draco. Draco Malfoy."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/n: I hope everyone is safe and self-quarantining or self-isolating! It's a strange time to be alive, so here's to hoping that reading about Hermione and Draco's strange experiences distract from reality, even if briefly!**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**The Questions**

* * *

Harry inhales deeply, as though willing himself to say the name. "The one who was with me during the accident."

Draco doesn't expect Harry to say his name, considering how vague he had been about it so far. But Harry clears his throat and whispers, his voice thick, "Draco. Draco Malfoy."

Emerald eyes turn to meet blue-grey ones, and Draco feels his heart fall to his stomach. Harry's eyes glisten with unshed tears for a moment, but he quickly blinks them away.

"He's the one that—in the accident—" Harry struggles to finish his sentence. "He's the—he's the man I was—"

He breaks off, exhales shakily, and looks away. "I'm tired," he announces suddenly.

Draco nods. "Of course. It's been quite an intense session. Thank you for sharing all that you did."

Harry laughs drily. "Well, we're bound by blood now, so there's no reason for me not to trust you, right?"

Draco smiles in response but says nothing. Instead, he rises to his feet and holds a hand out. "It was a pleasure making your acquaintance, Harry. I'll see you soon."

Harry takes Draco's hand and shakes it once with a grimace. "How soon?"

"Within the week's end."

"Very soon, then," Harry says, his expression sour.

Draco's smile widens. "The quicker you can get rid of me, right?"

"Right."

Harry still looks a little shaken, and Draco decides it's time to bid farewell. He moves to the door, and Harry follows.

"Well, then," he says as he opens the door. "I hope you have a relaxing weekend."

Harry scoffs. "If someone doesn't try to kill me before then."

Draco laughs off the ominous retort, and with a quick wave, exits the room. He takes a moment to sign himself out at the front desk (and have a quick chat with the younger Nancy) before heading out.

It doesn't take him much time at all to Apparate back to Hermione's lab. The moment he's steadied himself, she's practically on top of him, besides herself with curiosity.

"How'd it go?" she asks, wide-eyed and wringing her hands much like her younger self had earlier.

"Not at all like we anticipated," Draco says with a tired sigh.

"Well, we did expect it to be harder than not," she says gently, helping him take off his coat and Levitating it across the room to the coat rack. "Don't let it discourage you."

Draco waves his hand. "No, no, I mean it went _better _than we anticipated."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up into her fringe. "Really?" She ushers Draco to sit down with her on the sofa. "Tell me all about it."

* * *

Draco watches Hermione as she stares off into the distance, her eyebrows furrowed and her expression sombre. He can practically see the gears churning in her mind as she processes everything he's just told her.

He glances down at his hand again and exhales in relief. There doesn't seem to be any kind of reaction from breaking the blood oath and sharing information with Hermione, so his hypothesis that binding magic was unable to transcend the time-space continuum may be true.

"But we don't understand binding magic enough to properly explain how it works, so it could be anything," Hermione had said when Draco brought it up. But Draco still thinks it had more to do with the fact that they weren't originally of that world than something more arbitrary.

"It still doesn't make sense why an organised crime syndicate would try so persistently to get rid of someone that wasn't even important enough in the investigation," Hermione finally says.

Draco nods. "That's what I thought as well. Perhaps it was because Harry was the first one to decipher their pattern of communication and predict where they would strike next?"

"That would make sense if they had made some progress in the investigation. But this group of—neo Death Eaters, for lack of a better way of describing them—seemed to be one step ahead each time." She shrugs. "So what real threat can one Auror, who's fairly new to the force, pose to them?"

"Well, if they _are _really neo Death Eaters, wouldn't him being _the _Harry Potter be reason enough?"

Hermione shakes her head. "I don't know. It just doesn't add up. It's almost as though someone is masquerading as this—cult—in order to take away suspicion from themselves."

Draco pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait, wait. So you _do _agree that the accident was devised to get rid of Harry?"

"I do," Hermione agrees. "But I don't think it's this group of mobsters that are after him. I don't think Harry poses enough of a threat to them for them to so openly attempt to kill him and risk exposing themselves when they've so diligently avoided being caught until now."

Draco sighs. "So, what? Is there a rival gang or something that's trying to get rid of this gang?"

"I don't know, and frankly, I don't think debating _who _is after Harry's life is as important as the fact that his life is in jeopardy."

"That's true enough." Draco lapses into thought for a moment. "But something Ron said to me makes me wonder..."

"What did he say?"

"He said he didn't understand why Harry was choosing to stay at the hospital instead of in his fully warded flat if he thought he was in danger." Draco looks at Hermione, grim. "It almost seems like he's _asking _to be attacked."

Hermione's shoulders slump and she groans in frustration. "Of _course _Harry's baiting his assailant. Why didn't I realise sooner?"

"It's also possible that he told me specific details of his investigation about this—cult—because, if I'm actually a spy working with his assailants, whom he believes to be from the same group he'd been investigating, I would convey Harry's suspicion to them, and they may be more inclined to take care of him sooner than later." Draco shrugs a shoulder. "And if I am who I really claim to be and work for the Ministry, then I'd definitely suspect foul play if he were to be attacked or found dead and point the investigators in the direction of his alleged assailants."

"I'd believe that," Hermione says. "That man uses his intelligence in all the wrong ways."

Draco scoffs. "I think it was rather ingenious. He made the decision instantly, when the blood pact succeeded against his expectations. If I wasn't working as a spy for whoever was after him and lying about my identity, then I must be someone that would care enough to look into his sudden death."

"I'd like to avoid him dying _again, _thank you very much," Hermione says drily. "Attempting to save him once has proven to be a lifetime's endeavour."

Draco chuckles and wonders when exactly Hermione had adopted his dry sense of sarcasm. He asks her, "What about you? How did your day go?"

"Barely as fruitful as yours, I'm afraid to say," she admits morosely.

"No other signs of distortions?" Draco asks, just as disappointed as her. They had truly believed they were onto something when they chose places to inspect for possible time-space distortions and Hermione had offered to go while Draco met with Harry.

Hermione shakes her head, the ringlets that had come loose from her bun bouncing about. She makes a sweeping motion with her arm. "This is the only place that seems trapped in both the past and the future."

Draco turns to look at a section of the adjacent wall. As though reading his mind, Hermione stands up and walks towards it. Draco follows a moment later.

Hermione moves her wand in an R-shaped motion and murmurs, "_Revelio._"

The air in front of them shudders and warps, as though it were a reflective cloth falling away, and reveals a table with two empty stands on it.

"You know," Draco says, his voice quiet. "We don't actually know the exact point in time from the future that this lab exists in."

Hermione seems to mull over that for a moment. "Well, it has to be some point between the first time I traveled back in time and the second."

She reaches under the table to click open a hidden compartment. A small drawer falls loose, and Hermione reaches into it, elbow deep, and pulls out a worn journal. She holds it up for Draco to see, and he recognises it instantly.

"Otherwise, this journal detailing my travels and possible hypotheses would not exist."

Draco nods in agreement. "And you say you didn't write it before you traveled back here, so it has to be from a time _after _you return to the future."

"Exactly." She smooths her hand over the cover, gazing down at it fondly for a moment before looking up at Draco. "Why the sudden thought?"

Draco shakes his head. "I was just wondering."

Hermione raises an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

Draco eyes the two stands, looking forlorn and purposeless by themselves, and wonders how to put his thoughts into words. "So we agree that this lab belongs to a point in time between both your journeys to the past, right?"

"Yes," Hermione says slowly, her eyebrows pulling together in a sceptical frown.

Draco nods. "Right, so when you got back the first time, the first Time-Turner you used became warped and unuseable."

"Right," Hermione agrees, still looking unsure of where Draco is going with this.

"And when you revealed both Time-Turners to me before I traveled back in time with you the second time around, one was warped and the other was in perfect condition, yes?"

"Yes," Hermione answers obediently.

"So, where are they?"

Hermione stares at him, looking confused. "The Time-Turners we used?" she asks. "Well, we thought they dissolved into nothing due to overuse, didn't we?"

They had been so preoccupied with everything that had happened since they arrived there that they had only briefly mentioned the Time-Turners a couple of times. Hermione believed they may have lost theirs in the time between the accident and them awakening as neither of them knew what happened in that duration of time.

Draco thought they may both have ended up activating the Time-Turners again unintentionally while escaping from the scene of the accident, sending them a week or so ahead in time. The exhaustion of their magic from two consecutive time jumps may have caused them to lose consciousness for an extended period of time. As for the Time-Turners themselves, Hermione believed the strain of repeated use may have disintegrated them entirely.

"No," Draco says, shaking his head in answer to her question. "If this lab is trapped between the first and second time travel," Draco repeats, "then there should still be one warped Time-Turner and one perfectly untouched Time-Turner." Draco raises his hand to gesture to the table where the empty stands sit to further enunciate the point he is trying to make.

Hermione's eyes have gone wide as saucers while Draco was speaking, and her mouth falls open as realisation dawns upon her.

"Draco," she gasps, the colour draining from her face. She reaches out to grab his arm, her hand cold and clammy.

"Hermione," he says, his voice trembling and his heart racing. "If this lab belongs to the time that we think it does, then—"

He breaks off, and Hermione is the one that finishes his question. "Then _where are the Time-Turners?"_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/n: Apologies for the delay! I've been swept away with writing one-shots for Season 8 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition (I'm a Beater for the Chudley Cannons :D). I aim to post a Drarry one-shot (single chapter story) every week or two for the next several months as part of this competition, so if you would like to be notified, please follow me! And for updates on this story, please follow the story! **

**Hope everyone is safe and well; let's get through this together with Drarry!**

* * *

**Chapter 10: ****The Discussion**

* * *

Draco and Hermione stand staring at each other for a long moment. Hermione's grip on Draco's arm is tight, but he barely registers her nails digging into his skin as he focuses on calming his breathing and his racing heart. Hermione's strength seems to give way and her knees buckle; Draco instantly Summons a chair, and she falls into it with a dull _thud. _

She stares ahead, unseeing, her eyes wide and red from not having blinked. She whispers, so softly that he thinks she's talking to herself, "What if we really are trapped here forever?"

Draco squats down before her and holds onto her, more for his own support than to comfort her. Her gaze shifts downwards to focus on him, but her thoughts are still miles away.

"'Mione," he says, making a conscious effort to ensure his voice is soft and gentle and not betraying his current state of anxiety. "This could mean many things, but us being trapped here forever is unlikely to be one of them." He speaks the words with confidence but hardly believes them himself.

Hermione seems to register his words belatedly. It takes her several seconds to nod. She inhales a deep breath and says, "We can recreate the Time-Turners." She sounds like she, too, is trying to convince herself to be optimistic. "It would take some time, but not as long as it did before, at least."

A decade was how long it took the previous time, but Draco doesn't think she needs any more a reminder of that than he does. He chastises himself for not having thought of the Time-Turners before in more than a passing manner. For some, arguably basesless, reason they had both been confident that the journal was the key to finding a way back.

After all, their original plan had failed. The Draco from the past was dead, and it was only the Draco from the future that existed. And the fact that both Hermiones were alive meant that they had inevitably created an alternate timeline. So, they could no longer just erase themselves from existence like they had planned as they may fail to exist entirely.

Although it was a very real possibility that they may never return back to their future, neither had wanted to entertain that thought, choosing to cling onto any sense of hope, no matter how unlikely it seemed.

Hermione takes her head into her hands and sighs deeply. "Maybe we're wrong about what point in time this lab exists in. It doesn't make sense that the Time-Turners aren't here if this lab is from a time between both our travels to the past."

"But it can't be from _before _the first trip," Draco reasons, "because neither Time-Turner had been used, nor had the journal been written."

"It could, however, be from _after _the second trip," Hermione says, the thoughtful expression still on her face. "Perhaps going back to the same past twice caused such a great distortion to the time-space continuum that the lab ended up traveling back with us into the past…?"

"This—it makes no sense," Draco says, exhausted from all the mental, emotional, and magical exertion of the day. "The more I think about it, the less sense it makes."

Hermione nods in agreement. After a moment, she scoffs and says, "Well, at least for you, being stuck here isn't such a terrible thing. You get what you originally wanted—a life with Harry—which is more than I can bear to wish for myself."

Draco is surprised by the explicit bitterness in her voice. He is well aware that the situation is least in favour of her because the younger Hermione would have to die, like the younger Draco had, for the older one to take her place. That would be tragic no matter how it occurred, but she had done so well in hiding her resentment and frustrations until now that Draco had managed to avoid thinking about it altogether. He was glad that he had her to himself and could pretend like the gruesome death of the Hermione from his time had never happened.

She seems to realise what she said a moment later and looks up at him with guilt-filled eyes. "That was unfair," she says, reaching out to place a hand on his. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"No," he replies, taking her hand in both of his and squeezing. "I'm sorry that I've been focused solely on Harry. I should've been more considerate of your feelings."

"Not at all." Hermione smiles at Draco, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. "I've only been focused on Harry myself. So much so that I never even thought of anything else, including the existence of this lab or the Time-Turners or the possibility of us being stuck here forevermore." She moved forward in her seat, the tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "We have wanted this for _ten years_, Draco. For ten whole years, you and I have been thinking of nothing else but seeing Harry again, alive and well. How could we possibly focus on anything else when our dearest, most precious wish has finally come true?"

Draco swallows thickly, blinking his eyes rapidly to keep his tears at bay. Of course Hermione, of all people, understood. He would rather be trapped in the past forever, or even return to a future without Harry, than lose Hermione—again.

After all, it is Hermione that he spent the last ten years growing older with, not Harry. He knows to live in a world without Harry, no matter how miserable a life it would be. But how could he possibly live in a world without Hermione as his friend?

* * *

"Where are you off to?" Hermione asks, once they had both calmed down, had some tea, and Draco has risen to his feet with determination.

Draco shrugs on his coat and Summons his hat, scarf, and gloves. "To see Weasley and confess to him that I believe Harry's life could be in danger."

Hermione comes closer to him and waves her wand. Draco feels a ripple of static pass over his hair and face as she works on his disguise.

"Will you start collecting the materials and components required to build another True Time-Turner?" he asks.

"It'll be difficult," she replies, focused on setting his hair just right. "Some of the things I need haven't even been discovered or created yet—especially the little bits of magical time-travelling technology that took years to perfect."

Draco muses over that as she continues with her ministrations. He understands, now, the conviction and resignation with which she said they would be trapped there—for a considerable amount of time, at least, if not forever.

"Well," Hermione says, as though reading his mind. She looks exhausted from everything that's happened; her expression is resigned and her tone of voice is cynical as she continues, "Good thing we have all the time in the world, right?"

She pats his chest and steps back with a satisfied nod. "Let's not mess with the colour of your eyes. We don't want a repeat of last time."

"I still think that was just Harry trying to corner me into confessing that I'm not who I was claiming to be," Draco says as he checks his appearance in the reflection of the faux glass windows. "And it did work; he succeeded in making me think my disguise was slipping when it wasn't. But yes, although I doubt Weasley has as keen an eye for details as Harry does, it's better to reduce the room for error."

Hermione scoffs at that. "Ron wouldn't be able to pinpoint what was different if you masqueraded as an entirely different person."

"You give him too little credit," Draco says as he picks up a quill and writes a quick letter. He casts a privacy spell that ensures the contents would be visible to Ron's eyes only. "You wouldn't want to still be with him if he were half as bad as you imply."

"That's true." Hermione rummages around for the post-owl's whistle.

"Is that the one I gifted you?" Draco asks as she blows noiselessly into a slim gold whistle with runes carved into its surface to enhance its magical range and ability to reach the Ministry-issued post-owls.

"It is," Hermione says with a smile. "I happened to find it when I was looking for some other hint besides the journal."

A shrill shriek sounds from above, followed by loud scraping and grating. Hermione tugs on a lever, and the trapdoor in the ceiling falls open. A barn owl swoops into the room, squawking angrily at being summoned to such an unorthodox location. Draco ties the letter to its leg as Hermione offers it a treat and whispers the letter's recipient to the owl.

The bird takes off, screeching in indignation as it flies through the ramshackle house above, and exits with the resounding crash of a window pane followed by shattering glass.

Draco turns to Hermione with a grimace but she only laughs and says, "That'll keep the neighbourhood folk from nosing around."

After a quick goodbye, Draco heads to the location of the meeting with Ron.

* * *

If there's one thing Hermione and Draco have in common, besides the dozens of other things, it's punctuality. No, they aren't among those who are always _on time _or _never late, _they are those who are always _early. _

So waiting, naturally, is a well-honed skill that Draco has mastered over the years, which has helped his professional growth immensely as well. Despite that, as he sits within the quaint Muggle cafe, he can't help but glance down at his watch, peer outside the window, look around to see if anybody new has entered, and bounce his knee in impatience as he repeats the entire process again.

Finally, a good half hour past the agreed time, a mop of auburn bobs in through the side entrance. Draco rises to his feet automatically, his face spreading into an easy smile that masks his irritation at the other man's tardiness, and he begins to speak a greeting when his eyes fall on the blond who has walked in behind Ron.

Neville Longbottom, whom Draco certainly does _not _remember inviting, shakes Draco's hand as Ron makes quick introductions.

"I'm so sorry for being late; our supervisor caught us as we were leaving. I thought it would be best if Neville was also present to hear this," Ron says in explanation as his friend drags a third chair to the table. "I apologise for not informing you of it. I hope it isn't a problem?"

Draco shakes his head and says it isn't, but he is still quite unimpressed by Ron—so much so that he almost returns to addressing him as _Weasley _in his mind_, _with a hint of disdain. He did, once, before Hermione and he became good friends and she asked Draco to use Ron's first name instead because it felt weird to hear him say _Weasley this, Weasley that_. Especially because there were simply too many Weasleys that Hermione knew.

Returning to the present as the two men watch him expectantly, Draco decides that having a second Auror there, who is also a close friend of Harry, will certainly help his case. "I presume Mister Longbottom is aware of the current situation?" Draco asks, looking between the two men.

"Oh, please, call me Neville," Longbottom—no, _Neville—_says. "Longbottom's my dad—well, technically my grandmother since my dad's dead, but…"

He trails off, laughing awkwardly, and Ron clears his throat. "Yeah, I've caught Neville up." He leans forward. "How did it go with Harry? Did he cooperate?"

Draco smiles. "It went better than I hoped," he says, and Ron sighs in relief. "However, the contents of our session is exactly what I wanted to discuss with you."

Ron and Neville share a knowing look. Ron scratches his head before asking, "Is this about the case Harry was working on before the, uh, accident?"

Draco raises his eyebrows in surprise. "Yes."

Ron nods, and Neville inconspicuously casts a privacy spell around them so their discussion wouldn't fall on prying ears. Ron moves forward in his seat, clasps his hands together, and looks at Draco intently.

"I hope you understand that this discussion cannot leave this group." When Draco answers in the affirmative, the redhead continues, "We're well aware that Harry thinks that the accident was rigged—we have similar suspicions of our own—but the problem is that Harry is convinced that it's someone belonging to a group of individuals we are currently investigating. Harry was not only a part of the investigation but also was the driving force for it to be sanctioned in the first place, so it's understandable why he thinks they're out to get him."

Draco looks between the two. "But you don't share his sentiments?"

Ron glances at Neville, who hesitates before speaking. "We do think _someone_ sabotaged the car—we just don't know who it is or why they did it."

"Isn't that good enough a reason to agree with Harry's line of thinking?" Draco questions.

Neville hesitates again before shifting in his seat and saying, "We really don't think an organisation as meticulous as this would do something as reckless as attempting to kill one of us, especially Harry, of all people, whose death would be plastered everywhere and wreak havoc amongst the public. It would be an unnecessary risk and they'd become a major target after all they've done to keep themselves hidden."

Draco nods and sits back with his arms crossed. So Hermione and he were right in their analysis.

"We're not being quick to dismiss it," Neville adds hurriedly, perhaps misunderstanding Draco's reaction. "We _have_ considered the possibility of an individual belonging to this group independently orchestrating this hit, but…" he glances at Ron for support.

"It's quite unlikely," Ron finishes. He shrugs, looking frustrated. "We only have circumstantial evidence and Harry's word for it, which means very little, realistically." He leans forward again and eyes Draco for a long moment. "But it looks like this wasn't what you wanted to discuss with us."

Draco remembers what he told Hermione earlier regarding giving Ron more credit and smiles to himself at the astute observation. "No," he agrees, leaning forward as well. "It is related, however." Neville also sits forward, and Draco looks from one man to another as he continues in a low voice, "Harry believes whoever it is is still after him, and I'm inclined to believe that he's staying at the hospital to bait them and find out who they are."

Both Ron and Neville look stricken, an indication that neither had considered the thought before. Neville pales, his complexion growing ashen, while Ron goes red in the face and slams his fist on the table. "That bloody fool."

"I thought to go to the Ministry about this, but I was unsure if Harry was right in his assumption of who his assailants are, so I thought it best to confer with you instead," Draco lies easily, his heart beginning to race from seeing their reactions and realising that Harry's life is probably in danger even as they speak.

"You did the right thing," Ron says, raking his fingers through his hair. "The Ministry may have simply dismissed it and considered him unfit for discharge."

"That was my reasoning as well," Draco agrees.

"What do we do?" Neville asks Ron.

Ron thinks long and hard. He shakes his head slowly and looks at Draco. "I don't know. If we put a security detail on him, no matter how inconspicuous, Harry's going to recognise the person and figure out you've come to us, which means he's going to be unwilling to speak to you after that."

"We don't want that," Draco says quickly.

"No, we don't. Especially if Harry has opened up to you so much already in the very first session, that means he trusts you, and breaking that trust would have serious repercussions."

Draco wants to tell Ron that it's because of the blood pact that Harry knows Draco won't break his trust. But he doesn't.

Ron drums his fingers on the table as he continues to ponder over the dilemma. The trio lapses into thoughtful silence. Neville is the first to break it. "What if you inform the hospital staff, instead? I'm sure they have access to an external security agency that could masquerade as healers and keep an eye out."

Draco considers the idea and nods slowly. "The external staff won't create any suspicion because he's in the Wainscott Ward—the patients there are more susceptible to dangerous behaviour and they always have extra security easily accessible just in case."

Ron seems to like the idea as well. "Alright. I'll see if we can go down there today and have a chat with the administrator. I'll ask Hermione to keep Harry occupied." He turns to Draco with a grateful smile. "We really appreciate your concern for Harry's wellbeing, Healer Greene. You're doing us a massive favour we will never be able to repay."

Draco waves a hand, awkward by the sudden gratitude. "I'm only doing my job."

After some more discussion, the three men rise, and Neville removes the privacy spell. Ron shakes Draco's hand.

"Thank you again."

"No, thank you for coming on such short notice; I apologise for pulling you away from your work."

"Not at all," Ron says good-naturedly. He and Neville depart after a moment, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts.

He sits back with a sigh and glances out the window absently, going over the day's happenings, the exhaustion finally settling down on him like a heavy blanket. He stifles a yawn and decides to head back when a familiar flash of messy brown curls darts past the window. _Was that Hermione? _Draco wonders and then shakes his head. Why would Hermione come all the way there and risk being seen by Ron and Neville?

He stands, ready to leave the cafe, when Hermione actually bursts in through the door, looking windswept and disheveled. She finds Draco instantly and rushes over. For a moment, he wonders if he's looking at the younger Hermione, but he corrects himself quickly as she draws closer.

The stress lines on her face and the exhaustion clinging to her features belong only to the Hermione from the future; perhaps the Hermione from the past still has a chance of a more youthful countenance in her thirties, now that her fate has changed.

"Draco," Hermione gasps, breathless as she reaches him. She looks ready to collapse from the exhaustion of it all, but her eyes are burning with determination. He waits with bated breath as she speaks the next words:

"Come with me. I think I've found something.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11: The Discovery**

* * *

"What is it?" Draco asks, gesturing for Hermione to sit down and catch her breath, but she waves off the suggestion.

"I think I've found another distortion," she gasps, and Draco's heart thuds against his ribcage.

"What? Where?" he demands, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her.

"Come on, I'll show you," Hermione says, and Draco follows her out the door.

They hurry to a nearby alleyway, check to see that nobody is around, and Hermione holds her hand out. Draco looks at it with apprehension.

She shakes her hand. "Hurry up!"

"You know how I feel about Side-along Apparition," Draco mutters, his mind returning to an unfortunate incident from the past, when an unsuccessful attempt had splinched him so badly that he nearly died. Well, _nearly died _is a bit of an exaggeration, but he did nearly lose an arm, which is bad enough.

"Oh, come on," Hermione says, snatching his hand. "Don't be such a baby."

Draco starts to retort but snaps his mouth shut when he feels the familiar tug in his navel. He closes his eyes, grits his teeth, and stays absolutely still as he's enveloped by the warping sensation. Seconds later, he feels solid ground beneath his feet again and exhales in relief as the feeling of weightlessness passes. He steadies himself, glad to feel the sturdiness of his feet planted securely on the ground again. He pats himself down and nods in satisfaction. All limbs intact.

Hermione rolls her eyes and motions for him to follow. "This way."

The sun has started to set, and the alley they Apparated into is dingy as twilight fails to permeate through the brick walls of the buildings surrounding it. Draco feels vaguely claustrophobic as they march down the alleyway but ignores the sensation.

They come out onto a busy street, and Draco realises they're at the heart of Muggle London. He wants to ask Hermione what they're doing there, but she's already disappeared into the crowd of bustling Muggles heading home at the day's end. He finds it difficult to catch up to Hermione; she is smaller and quicker than him, slipping lithely through the throng, while Draco finds himself crab-walking as he attempts to wriggle past the broad-shouldered blue-collar workers that grumble in annoyance.

He walks right past her before realising he had lost sight of her, turning around only when he feels fingers circle his wrist. Hermione jerks her head towards a glass shopfront several yards behind them that Draco instantly recognises. They make their way to it, sidling along the fringes of the crowd and sticking so close to the stores that Draco brushes up against their glass storefronts several times. He grimaces in distaste and dusts the sleeve of his expensive coat.

They pause outside the pistachio-coloured building only for a moment so Hermione can push open the door. The familiar, clear bell rings above Draco as he steps through, a smile breaking across his face as he inhales the nostalgic smell of freshly baked goods. Instrumental orchestra music can be heard through the speakers, but Draco can't identify it thanks to the deafening chatter emanating from the Londoners thronging the popular cafe.

There isn't a free table available, and Draco sighs in annoyance; he had forgotten how packed the cafe used to be for nearly two years after its grand opening. After all, Draco had never come there to enjoy the cafe—his affections are towards the secret speakeasy hidden away in the basement, its entrance beyond the far wall.

The owner, Monsieur Bascque, is a French wizard who came to settle in Britain after the wars so as to profit from the wizarding community's desperation to drink their sorrows away. More importantly, he is a close acquaintance of Draco's mother, which is the sole reason Draco had been one of the select few to be allowed admittance into the speakeasy designed for the elitest of the elite of the magical community.

It is entitled _Strehë_, the Albanian word for _haven_, an apt choice of name for the refuge that it provides its patrons—who are creatures of every kind and from all walks of life. Within _Strehë, _a utopia existed where peace reigned supreme amidst the diversity and animosity was prohibited. Draco had also brought Harry there a couple of times, and would frequent it all the time with Hermione years later—both loved it, Hermione more so than Harry because she found it to be a much-needed escape from reality.

Draco follows Hermione all the way up to the back wall, his eyes eagerly looking past it to where the secret entrance should've been but wasn't, and comes to the bitter realisation that the speakeasy wasn't built until much later that year.

"Why are we here?" he snaps in irritation, the cacophony of human speech assaulting his ears, the beginning of a headache already thrumming through his temples. What are they there for, when the speakeasy doesn't exist yet?

"Over here," Hermione says, her voice quiet and barely discernible over the crowd.

They wind their way to the very back of the fairly large cafe, climb up a short flight of stairs to the upper level, and slip around a corner behind the entrance to the kitchen area that nobody ever pays attention to. They stand before an old newspaper clipping, framed and displayed above an antique umbrella stand that stood totally out of place in the modern-themed cafe. The print is hardly legible, so worn with age, but Draco is able to discern that the article is about some farmer whose fields had been the only ones to miraculously survive a bushfire. Draco scoffs as he remembers that the owner is an eccentric man that found great amusement in displaying acts of blatant magic before Muggles to taunt them. Whether any Muggles actually cared a whit, nobody knows.

"Remember this?" Hermione asks, ponting at the frame.

Draco frowns and squints at the newspaper clipping, wondering if there is some sort of clue there. Hermione clicks her tongue.

"Not the article itself, Draco," she says, her impatience evident. She makes a vague gesture towards the vintage umbrella stand, the wainscoting behind it, and the frame. "Notice the subtle difference in the wallpaper?"

And that's when Draco remembers—before the entrance was moved to a more inconspicuous place, it used to be the projection of wall they are currently standing before. He reaches forward, his heart thrumming a steady rhythm in his chest, and grasps the handle of the single, black umbrella in the stand. He jerks it right, then down, then left, down, and right again. He lets go and waits, expecting the fake wall to slide away to reveal a stairway that leads down into the speakeasy.

The seconds tick past, then the minutes, but nothing happens. Why is the entrance there, he wonders, if the speakeasy still hasn't been built? Draco looks at Hermione, aghast, understanding finally dawning on him.

"The speakeasy is stuck in time, too, isn't it?"

Hermione nods, looking grave but excited at the same time. Draco pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"The lab, I understand, but why _Strehë_?"

"I'm not entirely certain, but I have a theory," Hermione admits. "The only reason I came upon this conclusion is because I was passing down the street and suddenly remembered it so I thought to check. I was disappointed to find that there isn't a cordoned off staircase beyond the toilets that leads into a wall, which is the entrance that we used. But as I was leaving, I happened to hear someone comment about how weird it is that they have a random umbrella stand in the corner that doesn't match the rest of the interior decoration, and I remembered that the entrance used to be in a different place before."

Draco strokes his chin. "But this doesn't mean that the speakeasy exists; it could just mean that the entrance was built first."

He looks at Hermione, but she looks convinced that she's right. Draco senses that there's something she hasn't told him yet. He crosses his arms and raises his eyebrows, silently questioning her, and she hesitates for a long moment.

"Will you tell me or must I beg?" Draco snaps, his patience worn thin from the day's happenings. He just wants to go to bed and forget about it all for a few hours. Is that too much to ask?

Hermione clicks her tongue, equally weary, and casts a silencing charm around them, just in case the din of the crowd isn't loud enough to keep their words from prying ears. She says, "You know how I keep the people from whom I sourced the materials and magic required for the Time-Turners a closely guarded secret?" Draco nods, and she continues, "Well, Monsieur Bascque was one of my many sources."

Draco blinks at this information but can't say he's terribly surprised. The eccentric wizard is a man of many faces, known by everyone for a myriad of things, well trusted to keep others' secrets as closely as his own. Draco is also more than aware that just as the cafe is a front for the speakeasy, the speakeasy in turn is a front for various other nefarious activities. If anything, Monsieur Bascque was probably chuffed that Hermione was using her relationship with him in the way it was meant to be used—unlike Draco, who chose to steer clear of anything illegal, or, at least, chose to be a passive spectator rather than an active supporter, much to the man's chagrin.

"So, what?" Draco questions. "What does that have to do with this being a possible site of distortion?"

"My theory," Hermione continues, her voice dropping a decibel, and Draco inadvertently leans in closer, "is that we should be searching for the distortions in places that tie to the creation of the Time-Turners."

Draco nods slowly, the logic behind her theory making sense. "So you think this could be one such place because you used Monsieur Bascque's help to make them?"

Hermione steps closer to him. She glances behind him, taking on the demeanour of a criminal hiding in plain sight. Then she looks back at him, her dark eyes intense and impatient, looking as though she doesn't understand why Draco isn't comprehending her words in the way she wants him to.

"Draco," she hisses, "do you think Monsieur Bascque would have agreed to do what I was asking of him unless he was compensated adequately enough?"

It takes Draco a whole minute to finally understand what Hermione was trying to say. He places a hand over his mouth and whispers a muffled, "Merlin's beard."

Hermione sighs and turns away, arms crossed, cheeks flushed, and hair wild, looking as though she had just run a marathon. Draco groans in frustration.

"Hermione," he says, closing his eyes for a moment and inhaling deeply. He looks at her, knowing the answer even as he asks it, "Did you, perchance, give Monsieur Bascque a completed Time-Turner as repayment for his services?"

She sighs again but it sounds more like a helpless sob, and she tosses her arms into the air in a sign of resignation. "Only a prototype, but there is a very real possibility that its magic is tied with the two completed Time-Turners since they were created using the same materials and magic." Draco exclaims in agitation, and she whines, "What else was I meant to do? I couldn't find the last pieces I needed anywhere, and he was my final hope!"

"Blimey, 'Mione," Draco mutters, running his hands down his face. "Do you realise what this means?"

She nods. "If _Strehë _traveled back to the past with us, then it's very possible that Monsieur Bascque came with it."

"And with him, the prototype you gave him," Draco concludes.

They stand staring at each other for a long moment, both lost in their respective thoughts. The crowd in the cafe has somewhat lessened since they came in, the sun having set and dinnertime approaching, the surrounding chatter falling on their ears as a dull thrum, reverberating through them like the hum of machinery or a swarm of bees. The hair on Draco's arms rises as his skin breaks out in gooseflesh, and he shudders, feeling an odd sense of doom pass through him.

"We have to find a way inside _Strehë _and see if my theory is correct," Hermione says, her voice sounding distant and echoey to Draco, as though she is speaking through a tin-can telephone. "We have to find Monsieur Bascque."

Draco swallows thickly. "And, what? We just walk up to him and ask him for the Time-Turner?" He flicks his wrist in a gesture of reproach. "You think he'll just hand it over?"

Hermione purses her lips. "We _have_ to retrieve it; it's our only way home. Collecting the materials again and attempting to rebuild the Time-Turners would not only take years, but lots of unnecessary effort due to the nature of the people involved in it."

She inhales sharply, and the sense of doom Draco felt earlier returns with renewed force. Hermione whispers, "We _have _to get it back. Even if it means battling him to the death for it."

* * *

**A/n: **_**Strehë **_**is a word I found when I googled **_**haven **_**in different languages. I apologise if this translation is inaccurate or incorrect or disrespectful in any way; I do not know Albanian or anyone that speaks it.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12: The Pain**

* * *

That night, Draco lays awake for a long time. He is exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally—yet sleep eludes him like a thief running through the night, just within arm's reach but managing to slip away each time before his fingers can grab hold.

So he decides to sift through all of what had happened that day, hoping that, in doing so, he would be able to tap into his subconscious mind and that it would provide him with some new insight that he had failed to notice while awake.

He thinks of Harry and their conversations; how deeply it impacted Draco, just seeing Harry again, alive and well, and how he yearned to see him again. He thinks of their blood pact; how foolish and dangerous it seemed then, but how it feels now like a strange connection binding the two together. He thinks of Harry's life being at risk; how he can protect the man—no, the _lad_, for Harry is ten years his junior in this world, barely out of his adolescence—and how he would convince Harry to speak of his dangerous plans. He thinks about the discussion with Ron and Neville; how both had seemed deeply concerned about this alleged threat to Harry's life even if they didn't agree with Harry's line of thinking with regards to who his assailants may be. He thinks of their plan to keep Harry safe; how they would employ the hospital security to keep an eye on Harry and inform them of any threat. He thinks, finally, of Hermione and his trip down to Central London; how they had discovered that the secret speakeasy they frequented may have traveled back in time with them, the owner in tow, with the possibility of their easiest way back home being in his hands.

A _third _Time-Turner. Draco still has difficulty believing in the possibility of it. Every time Hermione speaks, it makes Draco realise how little he actually knows about this decade-long scheme that she has been concocting and conspiring in secret. It also makes him realise how desperate his need to see Harry alive and well really was; so desperate that he embarked on this treacherous journey back in time with little more than a very basic understanding of what he was really getting into. Not that it matters one way or another, he decides. If he were given the same choice, he would do it all over again, because a world with Harry will forever be better than a world without him.

Harry. Draco sighs against the inside of his comforter, feeling the warmth of his breath spread and then dissipate. He wonders how long he can keep up this farce of being Harry's Mind Healer. Not because he worries his disguise may fall apart or that if Harry was astute enough to second guess his identity on their very first meeting, he may just be able to figure out who Draco really is. They are concerns, yes, but neither is as big as his worry that he would become too greedy—that he would want much more than to simply continue to masquerade as Jeremy Greene, the Ministry-appointed Mind Healer.

After the time for it comes to end, then what? He couldn't remain Harry's Mind Healer forever; of course not. Then he would have to find another way to approach Harry. Another disguise, another story, another deception. He doesn't want to do it. Lying to Harry is difficult enough without Draco having to endure the emotional strain it puts on him when he so desperately wants to reveal who he really is.

_But why can't you? _a voice in his head asks. _Why can't you explain to him everything that's happened?_

_What if he's appalled, _a second voice responds. _What if he's disgusted at the prospect that you've not only obsessed over him for ten long years but that you've also come back in time, pretended to be someone else to get close to him, lied to him constantly, all for your selfish desire to be with him again?_

_He won't be disgusted, _the first voice insists. _He wouldn't be… would he?_

The voices seem to be waiting for Draco's thoughts on the matter, the question directed at him, and he brushes them away, deciding that he's much too tired to engage in these mind games.

_I'll go see him tomorrow, _he thinks instead, and finally drifts off into sleep, the promise of tomorrow echoing through his dreams like the gentle music of a wind chime being caressed by a beguiling breeze.

* * *

Draco awakes with a jarring sensation of immense danger. It is so resounding and all-consuming that he sits up with a start, his breathing heavy, looking around in startled confusion as he tries to find the source of this feeling.

"Draco?" Hermione calls from her makeshift bed across the room, her voice still thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

It is just past dawn, the first light from the morning sun escaping down through the gaps in the floorboards overhead and falling to the ground in long, slender ribbons of yellow. Draco can feel the warmth as he passes his hand through the nearest ribbon. It flickers and bends to the shape of his hand, gentle and transient, warm and welcoming. He sighs and eases back onto his pillow, having calmed down considerably.

Hermione has fallen asleep again, her breaths rising and falling in rhythmic succession, deep and soft and slow. Draco knows it took her a long time to fall asleep as well, even longer than him, as he had awoken to a brief disturbance late in the night to find her poring over a twelve-inch parchment in meagre wandlight. He inhales deeply through his nostrils, eyes fluttering shut, and exhales through his mouth. The sense of calm that envelops him is just as sudden as the sense of danger had been, yet one is far more welcoming than the other, and without really knowing what it is that awoke him, he slips back into slumber.

When he awakes again, seemingly a short period of time later, it isn't from another startling sensation but a milder sort of disturbance. The ribbons of sunlight filtering down, from the abandoned house above into the lab trapped in time, have shifted with the passing of morning; one such ribbon falls right onto Draco's eyes, creating a strange, discomforting sensation of heat and brightness in just one spot. He attempts to rid himself of it by turning away, and while that helps for a bit, the heat is then focused on his ear, and it quickly becomes unbearable once again.

With a sigh of resignation, he rubs the sleep from his eyes and pushes himself into an upright position. His gaze darts across the room to find Hermione's bed empty, and he slides out from under the covers and walks towards the trap door. He tugs on the lever to release it, nearly collapsing it down on top of his head, and dodges out of the way just in time. The ladder clicks into place, and now wide awake from his near-accident, Draco grabs hold of the handlebars on either side and pulls himself up two rungs at a time.

He finds Hermione in the kitchen, making breakfast. The spacious room is still in a state of disrepair and abandonment as Hermione considered cleaning up as a sign that they would stay longer than intended. Large white sheets cover what little furniture was left behind when the previous owners moved out, the hardwood flooring dented or even torn off in some portions, the windows hanging loose from rafters. But the sun pokes in through every notch and crack it can find, throwing jagged streamers of light across the kitchen. The dust motes that hang in the air float around, as though suspended in time, and the added quiet and soft, orange glow make it all the more ethereal, giving it the feel of a long-abandoned wonderland.

Draco pads over to Hermione, who has her back to him, busy with her task. She's wearing loose-fitting khaki shorts and a thin, powder-blue cotton shirt that hangs off of one shoulder, similar to the trousers and shirt he's wearing—items of clothing bought by her in the recent past. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun, curly ringlets hanging loose down the back of her neck, and Draco remembers her telling him that Ron loved when she wore her hair like that.

He reaches her and wraps his arms around her from behind, burying his face in the crook of her neck, yearning for the warmth of another person. She jumps from the suddenness of it but then reaches up to pat his hair. Draco stays that way for a long moment, then inhales deeply and mumbles, "It's all wrong."

"I know," she whispers back, and Draco knows that she does.

Hermione isn't the right height or size for him. Her waist is too slender and her shoulders are too petite; the curve of her hips is too pronounced and she's too short to fit in his arms just right. Her hair is too soft, there's too much of it, and it smells of vanilla and citrus instead of pine and wildflowers. But it's not just that she's different—it's that she isn't Harry.

As he hugs her, he can feel the softness of her supple skin. Her torso dips inward in a gentle curve where Harry's would have been straight and muscular. She is like quicksilver in Draco's hands, all fluid lines and soft edges that flow into one another as though she would melt away into nothing. Her strength is deceptive. Harry, on the other hand, had felt solid and sturdy in Draco's arms, his defined back strong against Draco's cheek. He always felt comforted, hugging Harry like this—as though, even if all of the world were to disappear, only Harry would remain there forever, Draco's silent pillar of support.

The irony of if it isn't lost on him.

With a deep sigh, he lets go of Hermione and moves to stand beside her. He looks out through a window and realises it's the one the owl had flown through the previous day and shattered, the jagged edges of the glass panels dangling from the broken beams of wood like leaves hanging from a branch by a thread. The day outside, however, is glorious, and Draco can almost see the protective enchantments around the house glistening in the sun. He suddenly feels like a fish in a bowl, watching the world through the stained glass of his abode, abandoned, forgotten, a single pinprick of life existing in lost time.

"He's so close to me but I miss him more than I did before," Draco whispers. He turns to look at Hermione. "How is that possible?"

She offers him a small, sad smile. "Because he's so close within our reach yet so far away." She meddles with the sandwiches she had just arranged and says, "Before, even seeing him again was a pipedream. Now, being able to not only see him but touch him and speak with him has made us greedy for more."

Draco belatedly remembers he had been thinking similar thoughts the previous night. He sighs and stares off into space. "What're we doing here, Hermione?" he asks, his voice deep and soft, reverberating through the empty kitchen like a hollow whisper, making him feel even more like he may just disappear at any moment and no one would be the wiser.

She sets the plate of sandwiches down with a clatter, and he looks back at her, unsurprised by the hopelessness etched in her features and the tears in her eyes. "What _are_ we doing here, indeed," she echoes, her voice trembling. "First, we were running to get here, and now it seems like we're running to get back." She looks up to him, her eyes dark pools of pain—deep, vast, devastating. "When will we stop running?"

Draco opens his mouth to respond but a sharp, stinging pain shoots through him. "Aah," he cries, clutching his hand, watching as a long, crimson line forms across his palm. The pain is intense and unbearable for a few minutes, then it slowly subsides into a dull throb. Draco looks up at Hermione and sees the understanding in her eyes.

"The blood pact," he gasps, shivering from the sudden shock to his system. "I think Harry may have accidentally said something he shouldn't have."

The tears have dried from Hermione's eyes. Now, there is only a fire burning in it that always does when her mind is working out the solution to a problem. "You have to go to him," she says.

She rushes Draco, pushing him away from the kitchen counter as she Summons his clothes from the lab, and he hurriedly begins to dress.

"What is it, 'Mione?" Draco asks as she bustles about. He realises suddenly that she's angry. Whether at herself or Harry or him, he doesn't know. She approaches him and assists in buttoning his shirt, then begins working on his disguise as he pulls the rest of his outfit on. "What is it?" he asks again.

"There's something I've been pondering over since last night," she says in a rush, her focus elsewhere, "when you told me neither Neville nor Ron could think of who Harry's alleged assailant was."

"What's that?" he presses when she pauses in her talking to concentrate on working the magic for his disguise.

She stands back with a sigh and shakes her head. "We've all been assuming that someone was after Harry because nobody knew he wasn't alone during the accident and Harry never told anyone you were with him. But maybe someone _did _know."

Draco catches on quickly, his blood pounding through his veins with the rhythm of his racing heart. "So you think someone was after _me_, not Harry?" When Hermione nods, Draco continues, "And you think Ron or Neville somehow figured this out and questioned Harry about it, leading him to confess that he was with me—which was one of the things we weren't meant to speak about under the oath?"

Hermione shakes her head. "I obviously can only assume the details, but I imagine Harry's told someone something that was close enough to breaking the pact to cause physical injury. If his blunder hurt you, then it's bound to have hurt him as well, which means whoever he's with is going to be asking him a lot more questions he can't answer, putting the both of you in danger, especially if Harry ends up saying anything more than he already has."

Draco nods, buttoning his cuffs. Hermione holds his coat out to him, and he slips his arms through. "How do I look?" he asks.

She smiles. "Nothing like yourself."

"Perfect." He kisses her quickly on the cheek and moves away so he can Disapparate.

"Be careful, Draco," she says, and Draco calls out an affirmation as he spins on his heels.

The last thing he thinks as he Apparates out of the kitchen is how small and scared Hermione looked.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13: The Reveal **

* * *

Draco lands in one of the many Apparition points outside of St Mungo's and swears. He had attempted to Apparate directly into Harry's room, or as close to it as possible, but, in his hurry, had forgotten that St Mungo's had the same anti-Apparition wards that Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic had around them. Like them, anyone attempting to Apparate into the premises of St Mungo's would be automatically redirected to one of the nearest Apparition points outside.

Glad that the back entrance is only a few feet away, Draco races inside and turns the first corner he sees. He climbs up a flight of stairs, decides it would take him too long to get to Harry's room even if he ran, and decides to Apparate there—although advised against, Apparating within the hospital _is _permitted during emergencies. And, as far as Draco is concerned, this is an emergency.

He arrives inside a bedroom and is confused. There are anti-Apparition wards around the rooms in the Wainscott Ward as well, for the residents' safety, so he doesn't understand how he's able to Apparate into someone's bedroom. There's a commotion outside as people yell, and Draco freezes as he identifies Harry's voice amongst others.

He wonders briefly how he had managed to Apparate into Harry's room—hadn't Ron said he would increase security? Then why were there no wards around Harry's suite?—before deciding that he didn't have time to ponder over it. He bursts out the door, and the yelling stops instantly as four sets of stunned faces turn to stare at him.

"What—how—" Younger Hermione stutters as she points to Draco, then the main door, but Draco's gaze is fixed on Harry as he tries to use his eyes to communicate with the other man.

"Healer Greene?" Ron questions, his look of confusion quickly turning to one of suspicion, but Draco and Harry are still stuck in a stare-off. Abruptly, Harry grabs Draco by the collar and shoves him against the wall.

"I'm sorry," he whispers in the few seconds it takes the others to react and pull him off Draco, and Draco realises that Harry had only done it to get a chance to apologise without the others noticing.

Draco straightens his lapels and shirt. "It's alright," he says, as though placating the others about the collar grabbing, but he looks straight at Harry as he says it, and the other man nods imperceptibly, understanding that it's in response to his apology.

They continue to hold each other's gaze, still attempting to silently communicate their thoughts, until Ron suddenly appears between them. He looks from one to the other and his eyes widen. He reaches down to grab Draco's hand and faces it palm up. Everyone gasps at the crimson wound, which looks terrible, now embossed and swollen against Draco's pale skin, like a thick, pulsating worm is crawling across his palm.

"What the hell is this?" Ron asks, grabbing Harry's hand and revealing a similar red mark on his palm. Neville and Hermione peer at their hands then at each man in turn.

It's Ron's turn to grab Draco by the collar as he growls, "Are you really a healer? Who are you, and why do you have the same injury as Harry?"

Neville and Harry pry Ron off Draco. Hermione physically holds him back as Harry steps between them and meets Draco's gaze again. He makes a jerking movement with his head to the side, his message clear. Draco shouldn't answer any questions that fall in pact-breaking territory.

Ron shrugs Hermione off and snaps, "Will you tell us who you really are, or shall I arrest you right here and now?"

"Ron," Harry warns, but the ginger-haired man seems furious, his nostrils flaring, his face red, his shoulders heaving, and his fists clenched so tight the nerves on his arms are popping.

Ron's fury is understandable, especially considering they had all trusted Draco with confidential information, but his behaviour is juvenile and unprofessional. Suffice to say, Draco is _not _impressed by twenty-two-year-old Ron, who is still the same, hot-tempered imp that Draco loathed back in Hogwarts for his lack of tact and his boorish behaviour. He has much maturing to do before he reaches the respectable countenance of his thirty-two-year-old counterpart from Draco's world.

"Ron," Hermione says, gentler, and that seems to console the man to some extent. Hermione then frowns at Draco and says, "Well? You haven't answered the question yet."

Draco, who has returned his gaze to Harry, sees the curiosity reflected in Harry's eyes. Although he had instructed Draco not to reveal his identity to the others, he seems to still want to know, just not in this situation.

"I'm Jeremy Greene, as you're all well aware," Draco answers in monotone, flicking Ron a look of such great contempt that it seems to infuriate the other further. He sneers, "Besides, isn't it a bit late to be questioning my identity, Auror Weasley? Shouldn't you have checked all of this _before _exchanging confidential information with me?"

Ron pounces at Draco again, managing to grab onto his lapel with one hand while the others exclaim and try to hold him back by the other. Draco clicks his tongue in irritation and grips Ron's wrist. He applies pressure to a point that he knows will relax the muscles in the arm, causing it to go lax, and Draco flexes Ron's arm away and outward until the redhead exclaims in pain and shakes himself out of Draco's grip, taking several steps away.

There's a hint of wariness in everybody's eyes at this exhibition of subtle strength, and Draco exhales derisively, sufficiently angered by the situation now.

"I think that's quite enough of the collar grabbing," Draco snaps, his tone icy. "This is an expensive coat."

The foursome simply stare at him, varying degrees of wariness and confusion in their expression, until Harry's eyes go wide and he whispers, so soft that almost nobody hears besides Draco, "Draco?"

Draco goes rigid, feeling like someone had electrocuted him, his fingers and toes going numb and his tongue growing dry. He wonders what in the world gave him away, and a burst of images flood through his mind as he thinks back to the very first time they had met.

Both had been reasonably inebriated, and Draco had bumped into some very angry-looking truckers on his way out of a Muggle pub on the outskirts of town. He had apologised profusely, using his charm to get out of the situation before it ended in fisticuffs. To his utter dismay, Harry, who had spotted Draco, had bumped into the same man while coming after him, and they had ended up in a brawl after all.

They'd managed to get away with a few bruises and a cut lip only because both were quick on their feet. Harry's wand had slid out of his sleeve in the chaos, and while he bent down to retrieve it, he was caught by the burly man they had bumped into. Draco chose to save Harry in the spur of the moment rather than bail, and he'd used the exact same trick to get the much bigger bloke to release his grip on Harry so they could make a hasty retreat.

Draco's reaction is what gives him away to the others because they hadn't heard Harry say his name. Ron quickly goes, "What did you just say?" to Harry. Then, To Neville and Hermione, he yells, "What did he just say?"

_What do I do_? Draco wonders, panicking. He can't be exposed now. It may prove to be too dangerous. Hermione and he are yet to fully understand the extent of time travel's effects on them. There seem to be some exceptions to the rules, like how Draco could share whatever he and Harry had discussed with Hermione without there being any consequences, but neither are confident enough as yet to experiment with what would happen if they were to reveal themselves to their past selves. It _is_ one of the most important rules of time travel, after all, and neither wants to take any chance with it just yet.

So, irrespective of how much Draco wants to tell Harry who he is, he decides that he can't.

Ron squints at Draco, drawing him from his dilemme. "You're lying," he says. "You're not really a Ministry-sanctioned healer, are you?"

"I am," Draco says and holds his breath, wondering if he had breached the blood pact or the rules of time travel in some way. Nothing happens, and he exhales naturally, taking on his previous demeanour of being angered by the interrogation, ignoring his discomfort from Harry's eyes boring into him.

"Why are you here, Healer Greene?" Hermione asks, her eyes narrowed, and Draco bites back a sigh.

_I'd forgotten what a nuisance Hermione is when she's not on your side_, he thinks. _Always asking all the right questions. _

"I received an owl from Harry asking me to come urgently," Draco lies easily, glancing at Harry, who catches on quickly and nods. "I didn't expect him to have company and was just as shocked to see you all here as you were to see me."

"Harry?" Hermione directs her question at her best friend. "Did you really send him a letter?"

"I did," Harry says, also shifting into a more relaxed posture to cover up his lie. He crosses his arms and frowns. "Is this cross examination finished? I had some important things I wanted to discuss with Healer Greene before you lot came barging in here."

"Not so fast," Ron says, stepping forward, the suspicion and strong dislike directed towards Draco reminding him of old times. "How did you enter through Harry's bedroom, and why do you have the same mark on your hand?"

Draco looks back at Ron evenly. He knows his glare is icy and intimidating, a warning for them not to continue to anger him. It's one of the tricks he learned from his father that he still remembers, and Ron's bravado seems to falter every so slightly.

"I haven't the slightest idea how or why I was able to Apparate into Harry's bedroom," Draco answers truthfully. "In fact, that's a question _I _meant to ask _you_ because it's very poor security indeed, if anybody and everybody is able to waltz in here as they please."

His words chip at Ron some more, and the latter falters, muttering something incoherent, his ears going red in embarrassment as Draco continues to glower at him. "As for this mark—" he glances at Harry briefly, who seems to understand what Draco is going to say and shakes his head in alarm, but Draco continues anyway, "—it's from a blood pact that my client insisted we perform if he were to trust me enough to open up to me."

Hermione scoffs. "Do all healers make blood oaths with their clients?"

Draco shifts his icy glare to fix it on Hermione, who shrinks away. "No, Miss Granger, we do not. However, Harry here convinced me that he believes that someone is after his life—a fact that all of you have agreed with and shared with me yourselves, on separate occasions—and that if Harry were to be able to trust me, then I must prove my identity." Draco holds up his hand then lifts Harry's with his other hand to reveal both their marked palms to the onlooking trio. "This here is proof that the pact was successful, which means that I could not have lied about who I am."

The trio stare between him and Harry for a long moment. Finally, Neville, who has been silent beyond exclaiming every so often, is the one to speak.

"Harry, do you trust this man?"

Draco lowers Harry's hand and looks at him. He lets his fingers linger around Harry's wrist for a moment before letting go. Harry looks deep into his eyes, as though straight into his soul, and Draco swallows thickly.

"I do," Harry finally says, his voice clear and devoid of any hesitation. He turns to look at his friends. "After all, what reason have I _not_ to trust him, when the magic that binds us confirms the truth of his identity?"

The trio glance at one another, unconvinced but having no choice but to accept the resolution they had reached. Draco sighs, weary and relieved, even though he realises that Ron and Hermione would keep a much closer eye on him than before.

"The more pressing issue here," Hermione says, drawing everyone's attention to her, "is the fact that Healer Greene was able to Apparate in here." She nods at Draco. "Did you directly Apparate from outside the hospital?"

Draco shakes his head and lies again, "No, I Apparated from inside because I suddenly felt pain in my hand and was worried for Harry's life." He shrugs. "I simply focused on Harry's room in my mind, expecting to be redirected to the closest point the anti-Apparition wards would allow me to appear at, and was very confused when I ended up inside his bedroom. I didn't even realise it was Harry's bedroom until I heard his voice and came out here."

Four sets of eyes consider what he's said for a long minute, and finally, Ron pats Neville on the arm. "We'll go talk to security—see if this fellow here's really telling us the truth."

Draco bristles at being addressed as _this fellow_ and grits his teeth in anger. The dynamic duo disappear, and he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he attempts to calm himself. He feels a warm hand placed on his back and looks up to see Harry's apologetic grimace.

"I'm so sorry for this. I spoke without thinking after I stumbled upon Neville and Ron trying to heighten security around my room, and I seem to have triggered the blood pact."

Hermione moved closer to them, her face pinched together in an anxious frown and her arms crossed. She glances between the two men and focuses on Harry. "You didn't really send a letter, did you?"

Harry looks at Draco, gesturing helplessly, and Draco sighs. "No, he didn't. Like I said, I felt pain in my hand, and—"

Hermione waves a hand dismissively and clutches her head with a groan. "This is all too much." She snaps her head up and smacks Harry on the arm. "And you! Can you blame us for being worried?"

Harry winces, rubbing his arm and looking chastised. "I'm sorry."

Ron pokes his head in just then and calls for Hermione. She looks between Harry and Draco one last time before rushing outside. Harry turns to face Draco immediately.

"Are you really—"

Draco presses his fingers to Harry's mouth. "Please," he whispers, seeing his pained expression reflected in Harry's glasses, "don't ask me something I can't answer."

Harry reaches up to take hold of Draco's hand and lowers it, squeezing it gently. Then, before Draco can react, he jerks his wand out from its place in his sleeve and flicks it.

"_Revelio._"


	14. Chapter 14

**A/n: I just wanted to add a disclaimer and reminder that Harry is around 23-24 and Draco is around 32-33, and they will definitely be romantically involved in this story. I know from personal experience that as you get older, the age difference matters very little because the level of maturity is quite similar, but I would recommend reading forward at your own discretion. There will also be some fairly vivid but equally tasteful descriptions of sexual tension and kissing throughout this story (but not sex don't worry lol). If it's not your cup of tea, please feel free to stop reading, and please don't feel the need to leave any hate in the reviews. :)**

**Happy reading xx**

* * *

**Chapter 14: The Kiss**

* * *

Draco feels the disguise melting off and sees his actual face appear in the reflection of Harry's glasses. Harry inhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat, and staggers backwards. "H—How—What…?"

Draco grabs onto him and pulls him close. "Harry, please," he whispers, his voice trembling, a lump forming in his throat. "No matter how much I want to tell you the truth, you have to understand that I cannot. At least, not yet. Not until I know it's safe to."

Harry doesn't seem to be listening, though, because he grabs Draco's face and crushes his lips against Draco's; feverish, urgent, desperate. Draco allows him to for a moment, refusing to participate lest he get carried away when he knows he should not. Then he pushes Harry away and shakes his head.

"They can't see me like this," Draco says, and Harry nods, briefly returning to his senses.

He quickly uses a reversal charm, and Draco exhales the breath he didn't realise he was holding as he sees his disguise return in the reflection of Harry's glasses. Draco reaches up to caress Harry's face in his hands and a jolt runs through him as though he's struck by electricity. He rubs the pads of his thumbs against Harry's cheeks, nearly breaking down from how emotional he is feeling from being able to touch Harry like this again. For ten years, it had been his dearest wish that he never thought would ever come true. And now, now, _finally... _

He half sobs, half laughs, shaking his head as Harry continues to look back at him with the same stupefied expression on his face. Voices can be heard from outside, and Draco quickly lets go of Harry and steps away, moving to the other corner of the room to perch on the edge of the dining table and fixes his gaze on the floor.

He can feel Harry staring at him, but when the door opens and his friends return, Harry tears his eyes away from Draco and composes himself. Draco himself quickly swallows down his emotions and returns his face to an impassive mask. _Later, _he promises himself. _Later, I'll have time to revel in this moment. _

Only Hermione and Ron return, and, with a cursory glance at Draco, Ron begins speaking. "The security guard on shift for this ward is nowhere to be seen," he informs them, although he's speaking mostly to Harry. "We asked about him at the front desk, and she informed us that he logged in at the start of his shift, but she was unable to get a hold of him now. She also told us that, for some unknown reason, the protective enchantments around the rooms on this floor were deactivated using his keycard—this happened shortly before we dropped by."

He glances at Draco. "So it makes sense why Healer Greene was able to Apparate in here—the wards were never re-activated." Harry and Draco exchange looks as Ron continues, "Neville's speaking with the warden and matron right now and trying to get hold of today's security footage to see what's going on."

Hermione immediately pipes up to say, "You can't stay here, Harry." When Harry begins to argue, she holds up a hand. "If you don't want to go back to your flat then at least come stay with Ron and I so we know you're safe."

"It's that or protective custody, mate. Your choice," Ron adds.

Harry glances towards Draco then steps closer to his best friends. Draco takes the hint and moves around the table so his back is facing them, giving them some privacy, but he makes sure he's still in earshot so he can hear their conversation.

"Alright, but I want to keep meeting Healer Greene for my sessions," Harry said, his voice hushed.

There is silence, and Draco pictures Ron and Hermione exchanging looks. Then, Ron says, his voice soft, "Harry, I'm going to have to submit an incident report about everything that's happened."

"Yeah, I understand—"

"No, let me finish." A pause. Draco hears the scratching sound of shoes on carpet as someone shifts their weight. "The Ministry isn't going to authorise your return to work even if you are approved by Healer Greene as fit for duty once they hear about what's happened."

"I'm not doing this to go back to work," Harry says, his frustration evident in his voice. "Look, I know you don't trust him, but I haven't been able to open up to anybody about what happened as I've been able to with Healer Greene. I really feel like he can help me. Isn't that why you brought him to me in the first place?"

More silence as Ron and Hermione seem to deliberate over what Harry's saying. Harry continues, "I'll go back to my flat. Or I'll stay at your place—I'll even go into protective custody, if that's what it takes, but I _want _to continue my sessions."

"Harry—"

"Please, Hermione."

There is so much desperation in his voice that Draco closes his eyes and swallows thickly. He knows that Harry is only doing it to see _him, _not his alias, and he wants to interrupt to refuse Harry's proposition, but his body won't move. His tongue is stone in his mouth. The logical part of him warns him of the risk, but the emotional part of him wants it _so bad_.

"Do you really trust him that much?" Ron finally asks, and silence follows. Draco pictures Harry nodding in answer.

"I know why you're worried, but he can't hurt me, Ron; we're bound by the blood pact—remember?" Draco pictures Harry holding up his hand to show the mark on his palm. Harry continues, "In fact, if you still can't trust him, here," there's some rustling, and Draco glances over his shoulder to see Harry holding out the vial containing their combined blood, "take this."

Ron flat out refuses, moving away, his face contorting in disgust. "Is that… _blood_?"

Harry turns to Hermione and places the vial in her hand. "He can only hurt me after destroying this vial. Without it, the magic won't allow him to inflict injury on me without harming himself." He looks between the two, his expression desperate and pained. "Whatever else you want me to do, I'll do, just—please."

Ron and Hermione look conflicted. Hermione whispers something to Ron, too soft for Draco to hear, and Harry glances towards Draco in the meantime. Draco turns away, his heart thudding against his chest, feeling like he was caught red handed doing something he wasn't meant to be doing. As he wallows in the agony of his own indecision, the couple behind him seems to have made up their mind.

"Alright," Ron says with a sigh. "But only if he agrees to let us question him."

"Okay," Harry agrees, a little too quick.

"With Veritaserum," Ron adds, and Draco spins around.

"Absolutely not," Harry refuses before Draco can say anything.

"Harry, this isn't for you to decide," Hermione says, her voice quiet but firm. She glances at Draco then back at Harry. "Your safety is our primary concern."

"We _all_ have our secrets," Harry hisses, gesturing with his hands emphatically. "There are things about the accident that I'm keeping from you both, and I'm sure you're aware of that."

Hermione sighs, and Ron lets his head hang, his arms on his hips. When neither seems like they're going to concede, Harry says, "If you don't trust him, at least trust me when I say that nothing he's keeping secret is going to be dangerous to me in any way."

_You don't know that, _Draco wants to say but holds his tongue.

"Mate, you spent an hour with this man—two hours, tops," Ron says, his voice strained, his frustration evident. "What did he say or do that you're vouching so strongly for a complete stranger?"

"I just—I feel like I can trust him, okay?"

"But _why_?"

"I just do!" Harry throws his arms in the air in exasperation, and Draco decides this argument can go on forever if he doesn't put an end to it. He begins to move towards them, when Hermione speaks.

"Alright, we'll agree to your demands, but only on one condition."

"What's that?" Harry asks warily, and Draco knows what she's going to say even before she speaks.

"Tell us who was with you during the accident."

Harry glances at Draco, his expression one of extreme helplessness, and he shakes his head slowly as he looks back at Hermione. "I can't tell you that."

"Why not?"

"Because it falls within the terms of the blood oath," Draco says, finally coming up to them. He positions himself so he's standing between them but with his back angled towards Harry, refusing to meet the other man's gaze. "Harry could endanger his life and mine if he tells you."

Hermione grips the vial of blood in her hand and raises it over her head. "Then I'll just break this, shall I?"

"No!" The three men exclaim at once, then all eyes turn to Ron, whose reaction is the most surprising.

"You, of all people, know how a blood pact works, Hermione," Ron says, carefully reaching up to extricate the vial from her fingers. "It can only be rescinded by the ones that took the oath. Any external tampering puts the lives of those involved in jeopardy."

Hermione sighs, her shoulders slumping, and rubs her eyes tiredly. "I know, I know," she mutters.

Ron hands the vial back to Harry, who looks surprised. "I refuse to take responsibility for something that could end up killing you because I accidentally sat on it."

A moment of silence follows. Harry scoffs, then laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. Smiles spread across the faces of the others, and they all chuckle briefly.

"Ahh," Ron groans, raking a hand through his haid. He turns to Draco and holds out his hand, a sheepish smile on his face. "I can't say I trust you completely, but Harry's word and this blood pact between you both will have to suffice—for the time being, at least. I apologise for my attitude towards you, and for the, uh, collar grabbing. Truce?"

Draco smirks, taking Ron's hand and shaking it once. "The attitude I can forgive, but my collar may be permanently damaged," he teases, and Ron grins.

His expression grows sombre as he says, "You came to me when you thought Harry's life was in danger. And knowing about the blood pact, I realise now what a difficult and risky decision that must've been." Ron nods, and his eyes reveal that his feelings are genuine. "That says a lot about the kind of person you are, but I hope you can also understand that Harry's safety is and will always be our primary concern."

"You may not believe me when I say this, but his safety is equally important to me as well," Draco says with a small smile, deciding he may just like this younger version of Ron after all.

Draco then glances at Hermione, who is watching him with a strange intensity in her eyes, as though she's trying to figure out what his secret is, and he clears his throat, feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny of her gaze. Harry steps closer to him and places a hand on Draco's lower back, and the warmth from his palm sends tingles up and down Draco's spine. He inhales sharply and tenses, then relaxes immediately in order to not raise suspicion with the other two—especially Hermione, who is now looking between him and Harry with a frown.

"Alright, well," Ron says, making a vague gesture with his hand, "I better go back outside and check on what's happening." After a moment's thought, he adds, "'Mione, walk with me?"

Hermione seems less than inclined to leave Harry with Draco, but Ron takes her by the hand and ushers her out. The moment the door closes, Draco goes rigid, then slowly turns to Harry.

Harry's face is unbearably close, and because Draco had turned into Harry instead of moving away first, Harry's arm is now wrapped around his waist. "You really do have his eyes," Harry murmurs, and Draco suddenly realises that's probably why Harry's been staring into his eyes so much.

"But you're not him, are you? At least not the one that..." he trails off, but Draco knows he's talking about his younger self from that world—the one who is dead.

"No," is all Draco can manage to say because he can feel Harry's breath on his mouth, and his gaze inadvertently flickers down to Harry's lips before he realises and tears his eyes away to look back into Harry's shining green orbs. Oh, how he's missed those gorgeous eyes, glittering like emeralds…

"I want to kiss you," Harry whispers, and Draco's skin breaks out in gooseflesh, his breath catching in his throat. "May I?"

"I don't think that's a good idea," he whispers back. "Your—Your friends may be back any minute."

"Just once," Harry murmurs, and his eyes are so earnest, the yearning in them so clear that Draco can't say no.

"Just once," he repeats weakly, but even before he can finish speaking, Harry's lips are on his.

He gasps, and Harry deepens the kiss instantly, his tongue slipping into Draco's mouth and making him shudder. _Stop, _his mind screams at him. _Stop this now, you fool! _

But he can't stop—he doesn't _want _to stop—not when Harry is tightening his arm around Draco's waist and pulling Draco flush against him, not when his other arm is snaking around and his fingers are entangling themselves in Draco's hair. Not when Draco's own hands are clinging onto Harry for dear life, savouring every moment like it's his last, just to make up for the ten years it took for this to happen.

They break apart for just a second to catch their breath, and then Harry is kissing Draco again, his hands now clasping Draco's face, cool against his flushed cheeks, rough against his soft skin. Draco loses focus as Harry runs his tongue along the roof of Draco's mouth, sending waves of pleasure through him, making him weak in the knees. Draco has to forcibly extricate himself from the kiss because it's too much—it's overwhelming—and Harry's arms slip down to his waist as he pulls Draco closer and nestles his head in the crook of Draco's neck.

They stand there, arms around each other, gasping for breath, pressed up so completely against the other that they can feel the other's body heat through their clothes. Draco suddenly realises he can feel Harry's heartbeat against his own, beating at the same rate, as though they are one. Draco buries his face in Harry's shoulder and inhales deeply, letting Harry's familiar scent envelop him and drench him in its comforting caress. He belatedly hears the door open, and it takes him much too long to react and pull away from Harry.

He sees Hermione standing just inside the threshold, the expression of shock on her face making him turn away, but Harry's arms are still holding him and they tighten now as Draco tries to pull away.

"I'll explain everything soon, Hermione, I promise," Harry says, his voice sounding far away to Draco as his ears are filled with the sound of his thundering heart.

Hermione doesn't respond, and a few seconds later, Draco registers the sound of the door closing. He looks at the other man, and Harry whispers, "Can I see your real face again one last time? Please?"

Draco starts to shake his head then stops. He nods in agreement because why the hell not? If he gets to see Harry, why shouldn't Harry get to see him? Harry points his wand at the door and mumbles a quick, "_Colloportus._"

Draco hears the lock click just as Harry flicks his wand and says, "_Revelio." _The same, strange feeling of something melting off his face returns, and the next moment, Harry's eyes widen and light up with so much unbridled joy that it takes Draco's breath away.

_Why didn't I do this in the first place? _Draco wonders briefly as Harry, once again, pulls him in for a kiss, and the world explodes in fireworks.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/n: I forgot to mention this earlier, but I'm using the Law of Equivalent Exchange from Fullmetal Alchemist in this story, just FYI. Sorry for the late update! I've been working on my master's thesis and it nearly killed me… Thankfully it's FINALLY DONE! HUZZAH! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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**Chapter 15: The Aftermath**

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Draco Apparates back home after that—to Hermione's home, rather, which isn't really her home either, since they're in the past—because he is much too overwhelmed with everything that's happened. The worst has come to transpire; Harry knows who he is—well, not really, but nevertheless, Harry _knows_—and now he has to figure out how to tell him the truth in a way that would make sense.

When he arrives in the kitchen, Hermione practically pounces on him. From the way her nails dig into his back as she grips him tightly to the wetness on his shirt when she presses her face to his shoulder, he can tell that she was beside herself with worry.

"Hey," he says softly, wrapping his arms around her and rocking gently. "I'm alright. So is Harry. We're alright."

She nods against his shoulder with a sniff, then slowly pulls back. She turns away without meeting his eyes.

As she walks to the kitchen table, Draco can't help but notice that the kitchen looks almost as good as new. The only thing Hermione hasn't fixed is the broken window, and Draco wonders if it's meant to be a reminder of some sort.

"You tidied," he comments as he sits in the chair closest to her.

Hermione waves a hand. "Needed something to do while I waited."

Draco leans forward to take her hand in his, urging her to look at him. When deep brown eyes the warm shade of hot chocolate turn to meet his own slate-grey ones, Draco offers Hermione a small smile.

"Harry found out," he says. He'd wondered how to explain the situation to Hermione, but decided the easiest way was to just be honest about it. "I think he may have had an inkling, but something I did gave me away. He used a revealing charm to undo my disguise before I could react."

Hermione watches Draco with a deadpan expression, not a single emotion visible on her face or in her eyes. Her unblinking poker face remains unchanged for so long that Draco frowns and waves a hand in front of her. She blinks quickly and exhales in a rush, as though she'd forgotten to breathe.

She turns away, staring blankly at the table, wide-eyed and expressionless. Draco's heart begins to race. Hermione hiding her emotions and pretending she isn't upset or angry is far worse than if she actually expressed her feelings.

"'Mione," Draco says softly when minutes pass and the brunette doesn't speak. "Please say something."

Hermione inhales a quick breath and purses her lips. Then she clears her throat and says, "I've been doing a lot of thinking recently—"

She trails off, her eyes glazing over, looking like she's lost in her own world again, as though she'd forgotten that she was mid-sentence. She shakes her head, as though to clear it, and looks up at Draco with wide, clear brown eyes.

"Do you plan on telling him the truth?" A pause. "All of it?"

Draco hesitates. "Not all of it, I don't think. We're still unsure about so much when it comes to the laws of time traveling, and I don't want to risk anything."

Hermione scoffs. "Any more than we already have?"

"You know what I mean," Draco says.

Hermione nods and looks away again. She does a wide sweep of the room, her eyes drinking in every detail, as though needing to commit it to memory. The implications of that thought makes Draco shudder.

"I don't want you to tell him about me," Hermione says as her gaze finally settles back on Draco. "Nothing at all," she continues before Draco can respond. "Not about my original attempt to save his life, not that this second attempt was all my idea, not that a version of me died while attempting to save him, nor that I'm here with you as well—nothing."

"But—"

"Promise me, Draco," she says, her tone of voice forceful and insistent. Her eyes are unflinchingly intense.

Draco nods slowly. "I understand where you're coming from," he begins, choosing his words carefully. "Revealing your presence would be breaking the very first rule of time travel—the past self should never come in contact with their future self." Hermione doesn't respond—not even a nod of acknowledgement—and Draco continues, "But nothing's happened since I revealed myself, so maybe—"

"No."

"Hermione—"

"I won't argue with you about this, Draco," she says, and her voice has taken on the adamant quality that it always does when Hermione has made up her mind about something and will not be talked out of it. "Like I said, I've been thinking about it a lot, and this is the decision I've come to."

Now Draco thinks there's more to it than him not revealing her presence to Harry. He leans forward, his heart beginning to race.

"And what is it that you've decided?" he asks, his voice soft and hesitant.

Hermione watches him for a long moment, her eyes darting between his as she focuses on one then the other, and he can see the gears in her head churning. Finally, she looks away and clicks her tongue. Taking her head in her hands, she sighs, and Draco's budding concern grows tenfold.

"Please don't tell me it's what I think it is," he says, sounding choked. His heart is thundering away in his chest, and his mouth has gone dry.

"It is," Hermione says, so softly that Draco thinks he's misheard her. She looks up at him, a small, sad smile on her face. "I don't belong here, Draco." He starts to argue, but she holds up a hand to silence him. "I know you've felt it too, no matter how much you've tried not to think about it. I've thought and thought about how I can fit in here—about where my place is—and I've finally come to the conclusion that there is no place for me here simply because I'm not meant to remain here."

Her smile grows resigned. "But you, on the other hand, are slowly but surely finding your place here. And now that Harry knows, it's only going to become easier for you."

"That's not true," Draco says immediately. "This was _your _idea. I'm only here because of _you. _How can I belong here when you don't?"

"We were never meant to be here to begin with, Draco," Hermione says, her voice taking on a more patronising tone. "The original plan was for the two of us to disappear once we saved both Harry and past you."

"But we failed, and that's why we got stuck here," Draco says, his voice rising, "to see if we can return to the future and try again to fix what we couldn't this time!"

Hermione shakes her head. "Don't you see? Failing automatically meant that we've created an alternate timeline. So even if we somehow do manage to return to _our_ future, it isn't the future of _this _parallel universe. We'd never be able to come back."

"Well—that's—" Draco falters. He slumps back in his chair, a deep sense of resignation crashing down on him. "So, what? We're just stuck here forever?"

"We don't have to be," Hermione says.

Draco frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you're not really _stuck _here, are you? You _want _to be here. And because the Draco of this world is dead, you _can _remain here."

"That's—"

"But I can't. Besides, I want to go back—I want to go home."

They stare at each other for a long time. Draco can practically hear the minutes tick by. How can he force Hermione to stay when he's seen how much she's struggled with being the interloper in this world these past few weeks? How can he dismiss her when he can see how this is probably the best thing for her?

He presses the heels of his palm against his closed eyes and swallows thickly. Inhaling deeply, he lets out a long, drawn out sigh. Finally, he looks up at her and nods.

"Okay. But how do we get you home?"

Hermione seems surprised that she's managed to convince him so quickly, then seems to have decided to seize the opportunity before he changes his mind. She sits forward, her eyes now glittering with nervous anticipation.

"I've finally figured out the reason the Time-Turners disintegrated. It was because they weren't capable of handling such a massive load of interdimensional travel. I suppose that's why the future me chose to have us disappear in this time, instead of attempting to go back—"

"Because she knew we may not be able to," Draco interrupts. Hermione nods.

"Exactly. I was probably already aware of the Time-Turners' limitations when I pitched the idea to you about traveling back a second time."

Draco frowns. "Did she—_you_—know you would end up…"

He trails off, and Hermione shakes her head. "There's no way for me to know that. Somethings just can't be predicted. Her death may have been purely accidental—a tragic disaster that nobody could've predicted."

"And the death of past me?"

Hermione shakes her head again and sighs. "I think that one's probably based very simply on the law of equivalent exchange. But, again, we can't be certain as life and death is beyond our comprehension as most aspects of interdimensional travel are."

"A life for a life," Draco murmurs. He swallows thickly. "So, then, if the Time-Turners you originally built couldn't withstand the journey we're attempting to make, what do we do?"

Hermione smiles wryly. "I create a more resilient version, of course."

Draco scoffs. "You say that like it's the easiest thing."

Hermione shrugs. "Easier than a lot of other things we've had to do so far."

"I suppose that's true…" Draco pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache building. "So, as soon as you've made this new-and-improved True Time-Turner, you'll attempt to return to the past?"

"_Attempt _being the keyword here," Hermione says somewhat noncommittally.

"Maybe you can attach an in-built fail-safe toggle that'll return you to your original position if the journey is unsuccessful," Draco jokes.

Hermione's eyes widen, her jaw falls open, and she snaps her fingers. "That's brilliant!" She jumps to her feet and rushes away, muttering about ingenious ideas that she should've thought of in the first place.

Draco snorts as he watches her disappear down the trapdoor, then sobers down as the reality of what she'd said sinks in.

Hermione, leaving him? Again?

_Well, at least this time she'll still be alive… right?_

Draco shakes his head. He doesn't want to engage in that line of pessimistic thought. Other things were working out. So this would too. And by the time she'd perfected her latest invention, Draco would have figured out what to tell Harry and how to assimilate into this world and remain here.

_Because that's what I want. Right?_

He shakes his head again. Self doubt leads nowhere. He wouldn't engage in overthinking anymore, lest it causes him to spiral down an endless black hole. Everything would work out. It had to.

So what, then, is this unshakeable sense of foreboding that seems to loom over him?


End file.
